The Time Of My Father Essay

One event that defined a part of my life that involved literacy was when I had to write a

Have you ever had a hero in your life, someone that is always there for you when you need them? I did, I called him "my dad." My dad was the only person that could make me laugh when I was feeling down. My dad was that person who had so much love for his family. My dad was the person who I could call and he'd always pick up. My dad was the person who would drop everything just to help me. My dad was the biggest hero in my life and to this day, still is.

In my parent’s eyes, I was born Catholic. When my sister and I were younger, we would wake up at six o’clock on Sundays and walk into church bleary eyed donning matching pink checkered dresses and snacks. I did not see myself as devout. I did not see myself as Catholic. Church was simply a routine. It was as normal as going to school. There is a clear memory of me stuffing a box of bandaids in my backpack one Sunday evening after listening to the Father recite the story of the Good Samaritan.

"Never forget the past…because it may haunt you forever. Regret all the bad things…cherish the good things. Look ahead always…but don't let the bad things from the past get in your mind." As a young child, there were so many incidents in my life that made me become the person I am today. There were rough times as well as good times. If I were to tell you all of them, I would remember half of them. I think some of my incidents really had some impact, and some were just simple ways of life. To tell you the truth, the incident that had the most impact on me has to be when my real father left me at the age of three. I never knew my father. I mean being a baby, you really have no experience or recognition of somebody else.

Before my sister and I were born, my mother’s family was Presbyterian and my father’s side was Episcopalian, however they’re families were never as religious as our family was when my sister and I were baptized into the Catholic church as the age of seven. When I was a little girl, my family decided to attend my father’s Episcopalian Church, which mainly had to do with his parents’ approval of our family. However, we didn’t attend that church for long, and I know this because the only memory I have was looking down at my vermillion velvet shoes and the way they matched the color of the carpet of the church. When my sister and I were five, my mother decided to send us to St. Mary Catholic School. In second grade, my sister and I were baptized

What is the definition of a perfect father? Someone would say it is a man who goes to their child’s baseball games, dance recitals or theatrical plays. A man who attends all family outings as if it is their duty. A man who showers their child in love and affection. A man who apologizes for his faults when they occur. My father was not described this way. My father is known for leaving his two young children and wife to serve his consequence in jail for five years. It was as if one minute he was there reading me as story and the next he was gone. I had the chance of living a normal life as some people would call it with both my parents, until I was six.

Growing up in my family going to church and having a relationship with God was as essential as breathing. My entire upbringing, I was brought up in the Baptist church. I have experienced a wide range of Baptist churches; from Haitian, to traditional, to non- traditional I been to them all. I have even been to other Protestant churches such as Seven Day Adventist, Evangelist and Lutheran churches. Evidently, I have a great deal of experience with the protestant branch of Christianity. However, in all my years, I have never visited a Catholic Church. So I decided to finally experience this branch. Before I went into the church I did some research on their traditions and origin. During the experience I took the most note I could take without standing out. Finally, I connected my observations to the development of social life.

When I think of a hero, many character traits come to my mind: courageous, strong, supernatural, good-looking, and invincible. Even though he has some of these traits, my father contains much better traits. My father is my hero because he is calm, loving, and selfless.

From the moment we found out my sister was pregnant with her first my dad, a kind

I just got back from school, and i finished my homework. It was a stormy night with loud bangs and long strike of lighting. My mom called me for dinner, so i rushed down stairs. At the table there was my brother Josh. He is 14 with dark brown hair with bright blue eyes. He was an average height for his age. Josh was very stuck up and thought he was the best and new everything, but he was a great brother. My mom was a easy going person. She had light brown wavy hair with blue eyes. She was kind of short and she always wore some type of dress. Then there was me. I was 12 at the time, about to turn 13, i was average height and had dark brown hair and almost black eyes. Now you're wondering, where's the dad?. Our dad walked out on us when i was born. It's been hard for my mom but she has always manage to keep a smile on her face.

November 2, 2017 was the first day that I would never see my father again. I no longer felt the comfort of the sound of the trickling water through the walls when he would shower and the feeling of accomplishment when I could make him belly laugh. I had gone to work for the night and, half way through my shift a police officer came in. The police officer took my boss outside to speak with him. My co-workers and I joked around about who it was gonna be. I assured them that it was not anything I had done. When my boss came back inside he looked at me with genuinely worried eyes. He told me that I needed to go with the police officer, he could not tell me why but I just needed to go. I started to panic. My heart was beating louder than a drum and I could hear it radiating from my brain down to my toes. The short car ride felt like forever and once I got to my house I gasped at the sight of three more police cars in my driveway. I busted through the door to find my mother sitting on the couch, her leftover mascara dried to her cheeks was streaked down her face in long strings . When she saw me, she began to cry. It was not the kind of cry when you fall off your bike or fail an important test. It was a screeching moan and the only emotion that her eyes could show was heartbreak.

As I sat down at my kitchen counter on Sunday night, I was texting one of my friends and I asked what they were doing, they responded by saying that they were typing up their interview. I suddenly realized that I hadn’t done my interview yet! I scrambled to my parents room to ask my dad if i could interview him for an English project. Thankfully, he groggily agreed to be interviewed. As I sat down on my parents couch across from their bed I realized that I didn’t know all about my dad’s college experiences, and I was grateful to get to know him a little bit more. My Dad is precisely the type of person that I want to be when i am older. Except I don't want to be bald, definitely not that, but besides that he has a lot of outstanding qualities that I also would like to have. He works hard, loves his family, values education and helping other people, and he did a lot of similar activities that I do today. My father’s name is Stephen Hammarstrom, he was born in Hayward California and then a bit later in his life moved to Manteca California, he currently works at Fremont Rideout.

My origin begins with my father, who is 61 years old and my mother, who is 59 years old. In addition, my eldest sister, Candice, who is 34 years old, I am 33 years old, my eldest brother, David Jr, who is 31 years old, my youngest sister, Chakira, who is 24 old, and my youngest brother, D 'Angelo, who is 22 years old. My life started in a small village named Chinapoo Village Morvant on the island of Trinidad. We lived in my maternal grandparents’ home with my uncle and us living upstairs and my other uncle, his girlfriend and their children living downstairs. My father never wanted to live in his in-laws’ home, but when they married in 1981, my grandmother was alive and my mother did not want to leave her; she passed away when Candice was 3 months old. In 1991, my home life changed when my paternal aunt died and left her five children without guidance, so my mother coaxed my father into moving to San Juan to raise her three youngest. In 1995, we moved to the United States of America and settled in Bolingbrook, Illinois to be around my maternal aunt who was just diagnosed with breast cancer. We also lived with her and her two youngest children for six months. My cousins’ fathers refused to allow my parents to adopt any of them, so we left them in Trinidad.

Have you ever wished you should of just done something when asked? If someone paramount to you or a loved one ask something from you or to do something for them do it, because you never know what can happen. You can lose that person in a blink of an eye. There's always that one little thing that a loved one always asks for and every time it's asked you say to yourself, " ugh my god." The day that individual departs your going to wish to have them ask you for that favor every five minutes of your life. Just to perceive them say it one more time.

The man above all the rest, because of his influence on my life, is my dad. He is so special to me that it's hard to put it in words. My dad is the one who had me knowing in my heart by 7th grade, maybe even sooner, that I wanted to teach someday and that I wanted to coach. My dad was a 5th and 6th grade teacher for 23 years. During these years he coached track, softball, volleyball, and my favorite sport, basketball. I think I probably had a basketball in my hands when I was born!