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"Mom!" I screech. I rush around my room snatching random things and shoving them into my already over filled packing bag. I scan my room for anything else and see a picture of me and my mom on my 6th birthday. Im Sydney, I'm 14 years old. Ive been homeschooled my whole life, and tommorrow I was going to california to go to a weird kind of school. One where highschool kids live alone in dorms with a supervisor. Ill get to have friends! My mom never let me meet anyone. She wants to keep me from becoming "Like the world" She says. Im a dirty blonde with murky blue eyes. Im 5'3. Pretty short for my age. I heard a light 'tap tap tap' as my mom came up the stairs. She flopped a pillowcase on my bed as I grabbed the picture and put it safely into my packing bag. …show more content…
"Ok, I'll go brush my teeth." I reply. As I walk into the bathroom across the hallway, I remember that I have to tell beetle everything! Beetle is my online friend who I met while playing a game Minecraft. I met him then every once in a while we talked. We had an inside joke where I was a bully, and he was the innocent one. 5 months ago, we got eachothers discord and have talked ever since getting closer and closer. I secretly kinda feel something for him.. Its weird liking someone u dont even know. I rush back into my room and grab my phone off my desk. I click it on and see that he's texted me. My heart skips a beat. *Ugh get over yourself!* I think. "Hey, hows ur day been?" He said. "Good, I'm packing for my flight to my new school." I reply. I sit and wait a while before he replies. "Oh, cool, even tho ur going to this new school, we'll still talk right?"
I dont really know what im doing, seems like i never have. From being in grade school and not knowing why God put me here to being in high school and still wondering the same thing. You said you wanted something interesting, yet not sad, but those two things are like best friends.
Father, computer server engineer, alcoholic, and felon. My dad, Jason Wayne DeHate, has influenced my life, not only genetically, but he has also improved my character and creativity throughout the years. Beginning at age two, I was cultured with profanity spit from rappers such as Eminem. While my mother was at work we had multiple videotaped “jam sessions” and coloring time that allowed for the foundation of friendship we have today. The jam sessions consisting of me mumbling and stumbling in front of the television, as he was “raising the roof” from his lazyboy. Since then, he has taught me how to rollerblade, change wiper blades, and play my favorite sport, tennis. Along with influencing my leisure activities and the music I enjoy, his prominent personality allows me to grow as a person. Being the only male figure in my immediate family, I
Summer was coming to an end, the night air grew brisker and the mornings were dew covered. The sun had just started to set behind our home; my father would be home soon. I walked into the kitchen only to be greeted by my mother cooking dinner. She stood there one hand on her hip, her one leg stuck out at her side, knee slightly bent, stirring the pot holding the spoon all the way at the tip of the handle. She looked as pissed off as could be. My mother always felt she could be doing a million other things besides cooking dinner. We sat there talking until I heard a familiar soft rumble in front of our house. The rumble was accompanied by my father fidgeting at the front door. His old noisy Bronco always made his presence known. He plodded down the hallway into the kitchen to greet my mother with a peck on the cheek. After one more quick stir she plopped a hot pad on the table followed by a pan of sliced meatloaf in sauce. The smell of the meat, potatoes, and veggies filled the kitchen instantly and the family gathered around the table. The meal was a typical one in our household, my mother who had a million other things to do that day, including having her own personal time did not feel like cooking a twelve course meal. However, my father who always came home expecting steak did not see the meal as appetizing as the rest of us.
I was born in Montgomery, Alabama in 1935. I was just a day old when my mother and father dropped me off at grandma’s house and never came back. Grandma Rosa said that my father had gambling problems my mother was on and off drugs. Sometimes, grandma said that my mother asked her for money when she was running away from my father because he was abusive. But I wouldn’t know where I would be if my parents would have taken care of me. My parents did not name me so, my grandmother named me after her great grandmother Leslie. The only memory of my mother is her pocket watch that fell out of her purse that day. I’ve been living with my grandmother for ten years. I’m very sure my parents are not coming back. Everyday as soon as I wake up I use the pocket watch. Using it every time I always wonder what it would be like seeing my parent’s faces. My grandmother said to me that everything happens for a reason maybe my parents leaving was for me to live. At school when the kids get out of the schoolhouse they say “don’t step on a crack”. I believe in that ,but it does not apply to me. Just started fifth grade at Frederick Douglas Elementary School. It’s my first year at this school. I can say that it’s a step up from Harriet Tubman Elementary. All the kids in that 4th grade classroom threw crayons and
This plot continued through elementary school and into the summer before our sixth grade year. Our lives had been relatively simple until that time. School. Choir. Friendship. That was all we had to worry about. That is, until that fateful day when my mother told me that she had met someone. It had always been just her and me. So once Jack came into the picture, life took on a completely different aura. Not only did I acquire a new stepfather, but two stepsisters as well. This sudden multiplication of people created chaos. I began spending more time with my family, getting to know the newest members. Savannah quickly became friends with my step siblings. We all spent time together ...
My mom, just like most moms has been with me for my whole life. Her birthday is
Ever since I was a little girl I always wanted my life to be like the ones in movies, but sadly it was not. Having one parent wasn't easy, but my dad did his best to be a great father. My parents separated when I was 7 years old and that was when my childhood changed. Growing up with no mother was difficult, in fact, I felt left out when I would be around my friends because they had both of their parents and did family things together and I didn't. It was very depressing for me because I felt like I was different from everyone else. I also felt like I couldn't do anything or go far with my future goals because I didn't get much support like others did. I never found it easy, but I’m glad I had a father that stood by my side through thick and
Although I acknowledged the truth my mom had spoken to me when she came to visit, I hadn’t taken certain necessary steps that I needed to take. I remember one day sitting on my living room couch. Poet was sitting beside me. He was talking to the children. I turned my head and began to cry. I could no longer hold back the hurt, fears, disappointments, and anger. The family noticed after a few seconds that I was crying. Poet tried to talk to me but I didn’t respond. He called my mom this same night. I talked to my mom a little but I mainly just listened. The next day Bri had called me. Poet had contacted her and told her what was going on. She contacted me to tell me about a counselor she knew. I took
I still remember that day mom. The day that you died. It was August 29, 2010, around 10 PM. The sky was plastered with clouds, it was pouring and the sky was like a night club. Flashing lights everywhere and the sound of thunder resonated throughout the surrounding area. During this time, my mom and I were on our way back from the police station after I shoplifted at a nearby convenience store. Luckily they let me off with a warning since my mom had my back and since I was still a juvenile. Just because they let me off with a warning, didn't mean that I was scot-free from my mom's scolding. From the police station all the way to the car, all I could hear was my mom's constant nagging about how I shouldn't shoplift and how I won't be let off the hook so easily when I'm 18 or older.
She moved us to a small town called Centralia. Before I even moved I had people from this town messaging me on facebook telling me they couldn’t wait to meet me. All I could think was, “how do they know who I am?” My first day of school I felt like an outsider. I had never felt like an outsider before in any school that I had ever been to before. None of these kids were from military families, and most of them had grown up together. They knew every aspect about each other and I didn’t know a single thing about them. They were all very welcoming and within the first few months I had made several great friendships. During the school year I decided to reconnect with my dad. We emailed back and forth quite a bit and I realized that I really did miss him. In January my dad came home and surprised me in front of my entire middle school. It was just like one of those military homecomings that you see on TV. Everyone in the town knew who I was from that point on. Middle school quickly turned into high school where I would soon figure out who I wanted to be in this
A few years ago, I lived in Covington, which was a small town in Georgia, and was raised by my mom with 3 other siblings. As I was getting older my mom showed us how to prepare for life and choose the right decisions. At the time I used to hang around a group of friends, which had no positive influences toward me. My mom didn’t realize that I was falling into pure pressure at a quick rate and wasn’t thinking about how that would change my life in the
Without the black and the white pixels intermingling on the television screen you would have no picture. You would just have an entirely black or an entirely white screen. That wouldn’t be interesting at all. They need to be together to form the picture, to have meaning. Separated they mean nothing. I wish that people could look at the world like this. Separating the white and the black people doesn’t make sense. At least my Momma thinks that the segregation will end soon and hopefully she’s right.
By this time, she had settled down with my now stepdad, J, and he was everything a father should be. He treated me like his own. My mother was a few months pregnant with my little brother when I moved in. I thought everything was perfect, but that definitely was not true. My mom and I argued every day. She was not doing illegal drugs, instead she was going to the doctor’s office and getting them prescribed to her. She was taking so many pills that had horrible reactions with each other. She took all of her anger out on me; everything I did was wrong. She would scream at the top of her lungs in my face, and I would feel her spit hitting my face. I just cried. It was all I could do. Every time we got into an argument, I would call my grandma crying. I would spend a week at my grandma’s house then go back and try it again. Sadly, it never worked in my favor. I know families do not always get along, but the way she acted towards me was terrible. I always wondered why she never yelled at my brother. He was so lucky; I was glad he did not have to go through what I did, and I hoped he never would have to. Well, our fights got worse. At the age of seventeen, I finally rebelled. I begged her to sign emancipation papers. I was determined I could handle life on my own. The day I asked her to sign the papers she grabbed me by my hair and then began to choke me. I grabbed her arms and pushed them away from my neck. She started punching me so violently and I hit her back; I did not know what else to do. I left her house that day and never went back. I was able to handle life on my own, with a little help from my grandparents. Today, I have my own house, car, an amazing job, and support from my grandparents. I believe I am a good example of a good catholic member, and I do not plan on following my parent’s footsteps. I am grateful my grandparents showed me the right way to behave and helped me get
In my formative years, I am sad to admit that I was the most critical of my mother. We suffered from what experts would identify as ‘mutual incomprehensibility’, and I believe at times we still do; however, as I grow more and more into woman hood and our bond has been strengthened with experience, I have had the amazing opportunity to gain a true sense of my mother and have come to admire her in many ways ( though she probably doesn 't believe me). For whatever reason, I once found solace in reducing all my problems as some fault of my mother’s inability to prepare me for adulthood. Instead of seeking advice and wisdom, I rebelled! Looking back, I now realize she only wanted to protect me, to help me, but as a teen that felt like control
My mother is somebody who often irks me. As much as this is true, her role as my mother is to make my lunch, buy me new clothes every so often, do my laundry, feed me dinner, and make sure I am safe at all times. In return, she has expectations of me. I find that these expectations are what cause me to feel that my mother is on my nerves. They include not getting below a ‘B’ on a test, being home by curfew, making sure I text her what I am doing while I am out with friends, and not going out somewhere where she does not feel comfortable with me going.