I cannot tell where it happened or even exactly when. I could not describe it or tell if it was raining on that day or if there were clouds in the sky. I cannot say if there was yelling or if there was silence. I cannot truly tell you whether it was my mother’s or father’s fault for my mother’s leaving. I cannot recall any of these things, but I can say that the event has affected me for the rest of my life. Mothers are supposed to care for their children. They are present when their child learns to walk, talk, even when their child loses their first tooth. Mothers see their child trip. They see their child fall, yet they always seem to the patience and strength to pick the child up again. They seem to never make mistakes in their children’s eyes. However, my mother did not fit into that ideal description at all. I could say that growing up without a mother was difficult, but that statement would be a lie. I had a complete family in my opinion. I had a grandmother and an aunt as my role models. I had a father who spent his time and money on my brother and me. I had a doting grandfather who waited on me at all times solely because I was his first grandchild. I had the world at my feet and a silver spoon in my mouth. To me, nothing was odd, but reality would come fast. By the time I entered elementary school, I knew what a mother was and why mine was absent (or at least why I thought she was absent). I had come to accept my mother’s leaving; it did nothing to bother me. In fact, it made me feel unique. I loved telling people that I did not have a mother to see their reaction. Their reactions would tell me much about I felt towards her leaving. It was my way of releasing any mixed feelings about my mother because every person I t... ... middle of paper ... ... that I could never imagine being up against, and I admire her for it. This admiration inspires me at times when I am down. If she could overcome an obstacle of that degree, why should I feel intimidated by simple challenges? Her will in the face of a problem of that nature will always be in the back of my mind, reminding me that I cannot fail; I can only get a chance to try again. Today, she still fights her addictions daily. Even with the visits and the clear mind that I now see, I realize still that I lost a mother. The woman who was intended to be my foundation crumbled before I could stand. The crumbling, however, has strengthened my mother and me. Her leaving has defined me as a person and has helped me to be prepared for any situation that I may approach. Hopefully, I may convince my family to forgive her soon, and maybe, just maybe, see her become a mother.
Are all mothers fit for motherhood? The concept of motherhood is scrutinized in the stories “The Rocking Horse Winner” and “Tears Idle Tears”. In “The Rocking Horse Winner” by D.H Lawrence the mother, Hester, unpremeditatedly provokes her son into providing for her through gambling. In the story “Tears Idle Tears” by Elizabeth Bowen, Mrs. Dickinson disregards her son’s emotions and puts more emphasis in her appearance than her son’s wellbeing. Hester and Mrs. Dickinson both were inadequate mothers. Both the mothers were materialistic, pretended to love their offspring, and their dominance hindered their children’s progress in life.
When I was young I remember my mother and grandmother raising me. They instilled most of my beliefs and morals. They taught me to always be polite, understanding, and cautious. All mothers in the world want their children’s lives to better than their own. Hoping that they can reach their highest potential. Instilling their own beliefs and morals from what their parents taught them. Passing knowledge down from generation to generation is important. +Having read Betty Rollin’s “Motherhood: Who Needs It?” I disagree with her notion that motherhood is not instinctual. *She does not prove her point using female psychology, religion, and animal studies. Reading Betty Rollin’s “Motherhood: Who needs it?” makes me realize how much people differ in this world today.
I walked into the room on New Year’s Day and felt a sudden twinge of fear. My eyes already hurt from the tears I had shed and those tears would not stop even then the last viewing before we had to leave. She lay quietly on the bed with her face as void of emotion as a sheet of paper without the writing. Slowly, I approached the cold lifeless form that was once my mother and gave her a goodbye kiss.
There are no words to describe what I witnessed. No child should ever have to witness the physical abuse of one parent onto another. It was gut wrenching. It was odd, and confusing at times, as a family we had everything. During that time, we were considered upper middle class. No one would have guessed the hell that my mother endured. It affected me the most because I am the oldest and would help my mother after my father’s physical attacks on her. As awful as this may sound, my father’s death was truly the beginning of life for my mother. However, for me I believe at that time my cognitive and emotional development were affected as a result of my father’s death.
When I was born, my mother breast fed me for two weeks, I stayed in the hospital room with her instead of going to the nursery, and she was home with me for the first five years of my life. My father worked and my mother tended to the home, with the help of her mother and grandmother. I ate Gerber baby jarred food and my mother read to me every night. My family did not adhere to many other cultural norms however. It was culturally expected that a husband and wife would have a home, with stable jobs and an established relationship before having children. My father was eight years my mother’s senior, and my mother was only 18 when I was born. My mother never earned her high school diploma. My parents were married the month before I was born. My father worked in construction and had a criminal record. Every single one of these descriptions violates the cultural norms of where I grew up in North Carolina. Although my story starts to sound a lot like a Lifetime movie, my mother defied all odds to provide a safe and secure haven for me. “When they sense that a parent is consistent and dependable, they develop a sense of basic trust in the parent” (Crain, 283). I could rely on my parents and trust that they would be there to take care of me which lead to my development of “the core ego strength of this period: hope” which emerges from the child developing a favorable balance of trust over mistrust. “Hope is the expectation that despite frustrations, rages, and disappointments, good things will happen in the future” (Crain, 285). My mother is the living embodiment of that sentiment. As early as I can remember, I can remember her insistence that as long as we were together, we were
When most girls write about their mothers they talk about how wonderful of a childhood they had being raised by such a great woman. They talk about her accomplishments and how they want to grow up and be just like her. They talk about the soup sick babble that every "perfect" family has to offer. When I write about my mother, I speak of the pain, the fears, the learning and the salvation. My Mother has been a great inspiration to me. She is my hero. Not because of the wonderful things she has done. Not because of the marvelous childhood I was given and certainly not because of her upbringing. My Mother is my hero because she was led down a path of destruction, but with God's grace and mercy she was pulled from her perils; and blessed.
I, of course, knew my mother as a mother. As I have reached adulthood and become a mother myself, I have also known her as a friend. My mom shared much of herself with me, and I saw sides of my mother as she struggled with her cancer that I had never seen before, especially her strong belief in positive thinking and the importance of quality of life. I was privileged to know so many facets of my mother, but certainly I did not know all. There were parts of her life that I didn’t see, relationships that I didn’t know about. Last night, at the wake, so many stories were told to me about my mom’s strength, courage, humor, kindness, her quietness, her loyalty as a friend. It was so special to hear of these things that my mom said and did, to know some of these other parts of her life. I hope that her friends and family will continue to share these stories with me and with each other so we can continue to know and remember my mom.
A new year had just arrived. I can still picture January in my mind, the mood was sullen and dark, I could feel the cold reaching my bones, but now I know that was the best feeling I‘d ever had. I had only a few weeks left to start college, which had been my dream since I can remember. My dad had already paid for my tuition, I was so exited I had promised to do my best. Then, I realized there was an obstacle in my way. I knew I needed to make a decision on whether or not keeping my pregnancy, it sounds rough, but it was definitive. I did not want to miss school, so I was definitely not taking this to the last term. I just could not think of myself being prostrated in bed for so long, as an impediment to start school. Never, nothing would make me give up on my dreams, and that was another promise I had made to myself.
Research conducted regarding modern society’s motherless children stresses the importance of a motherly (or even parental) relationship throughout the developmental years of a child. Hope Edelman, a motherless child herself explains, “I can tell you, based on both personal experience and interviews with hundreds of motherless American women, that losing a mother at an early age is one of the most stressful life events a person can face. It completely rips apart the fabric of a child's life.” If a child experiences the death, abandonment or absence of a mother, they fail to receive an adequate substitution. This deficiency can generate long-term damage to his or her self-esteem, ability to relate to other people, overall feelings of security and ability to trust others. The absence of a mother in a child’s life limits their support network, discipline, and supervision (Amato). An immense variety of possible negative outcomes emerge from being orphaned or possessing a single pa...
My mother was a god to me in those days, and in my eyes she could do no wrong. I think she understood this, and in turn she lavished attention on me like I was a princess in my own little world whose wishes were to be carried out no matter the cost. We were close, too, and not a day went by when I did not divulge some sort of secret knowledge to my mom.
Women are blessed with what I consider is the biggest gift in the universe and that is to give life to what once was part of them. At some point in our lives we ask ourselves……. What is a good mother? Although there can be endless definitions, my definition of a good mother is based on what I consider to be morally right. A good mother always thinks about her children first, a good mother is always willing to give her life for her children, a good mother is soft and gentle with her children, but a good mother becomes aggressive and protective when her children are exposed to potential threats and a good mother will always want the best for her children.
I was born in the testicle along with millions of other sperm. We each have one goal to create a human child. There is one problem. To create a human child we need an egg. An egg is found in a female human. I am in male human who calls himself Mark. Mark is 31 year old male who has been married a female human named Faith for awhile now. I am hoping that they will want to have a child soon.
Two-thirds of children who participate in extracurricular activities are expected to attain at least a bachelor’s degree, whereas only half of children that do not participate do (National Center for Education Statistics, 1995). Childhood is a very important time in our lives, a time when we develop many vital skills that follow us into adulthood. Some people laugh or scoff at us parents that keep our children to busy schedules. Those same people would also argue that our children should be allowed to have a childhood, to not be so tightly scheduled in their daily lives. Before jumping on that bandwagon, I would suggest doing a little research. Participating in after-school activities has shown to benefit children in many ways. Children should
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 was not only worry and take care of me, she always by my side when I need her help. I felt sad, my mother always by my side to talk and to console. While I am glad, my mother is always been there to share and listen to me. When I failed to do something, my mother who was gave me advices. She has always supported me in all my choices. She tried to make me strong people with independent minds. I looks to her in hopes that someday I will be as happy, as strong and as well as