Personal Narrative: Growing Up In A Non-Traditional Family

I remember our first days in US were difficult for me and my mother; especially, one night when I woke up and saw her fainting in the cold floor. I had panicked, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t have a car, or phone to call anyone. I felt a shame of myself, I couldn’t help my own mother at the same time. Thankfully, one of my neighbors was awake, and she helped me with everything.

Educator, Margaret Sanger, in her argumentative essay, “The Morality of Birth Control” implies the moral and responsibility when birth control is involved. Sanger purpose is to convey, to take birth control there are rules you must also include into the discussion. She adopts a touchy tone to appeal to those who aren’t informative of such drugs. Also, Sanger addresses to those who wouldn’t speak up for themselves or for religious purposes. Margaret created this reading to draw the audience to her view point of birth control.

Jack’s mom was calling him to come downstairs. Jack was in his room which was upstairs. But after his mom had said,”Come down now, It’s important.” When his mom said that Jack’s stomach churned. His mom was talking in a serious voice that filled him with fear.

The One to Blame Growing up in a big Hmong family, I was never the right child to begin with. It was believed and practiced that boys are the one and only person that will carry on the family clan name to the next generation. Women on the other hand, were viewed the opposite compared to men. Women were expected to marry at a young age and leave their family behind to go live with their husband side of the family. Because of this, women were often not being supported in getting an education.

My mother had made the usual phone call to make sure they had arrived to the place safe, but my mom didn’t get the response she was expecting. With

Grabbing the railing next to me. I scurry to pick my sheets up. Gripping my sheets tightly to my chest. unnoticeably a hand grasped my shoulder. I turned to face my mother, her reassuring face was all the reassurance

I come from an authentic Hispanic family, who is traditional in plenty distinct aspects. We treasure all the memories that have occurred to all of us and we laugh about the embarrassing moments we all had. We hold traditional customs and we accept new traditions as well. All of us are over protective of each and every family member, meaning that if anyone in the family has a problem we will not stop until it is fixed. To every family member, family is always first.

As I slowly walked over to where my mom was sitting I dreaded the conversation that was about to happen. As soon as she handed me the phone I said “hi” and after a long silence I finally heard my father’s booming voice through the phone. “Hey sweetheart, I’m sorry to hear about you and your boyfriend.” When I heard this I couldn’t help but fight back the tears. Crying was never acceptable so I already knew better then to let him hear me cry.

My mother entered my bedroom and immediately her face widened in absolute shock. “What did you do?” I froze, panicked. I had been discovered. Twelve-year-old me was sitting on the bedroom floor when she had come in.

When I saw the flash of my mom 's headlights my body shook with fear and I held in a sob. My mom opened the front door and I ran to her, clinging to her like I did when I was a child. I felt the warmth of her skin against mine and listened for a moment to her heartbeat. “Can we talk about something?” I asked, letting go of my mom.

Growing up in the United States from a very young age made me stray away from my Indian heritage, so in 2008, my parents saw the need to send my siblings and me to India in order to replenish the Indian culture in us. Initially, I had no idea as to how long we were going to live in India for, but by the third year, all I wanted was to come back to New York. Everything in India was just so different, convoluted and fruitless; just because I was American, I was treated differently–both negatively and positively. Peo I didn’t like India because of how corrupt it was.

I come from a strong Hispanic background on both sides of my family, my ancestors from my father’s side of the family originally came from Spain and migrated to Mexico. My family still holds true to Mexican culture and most traditions, despite becoming Americanized. However, all the schools that I attended were mostly white, especially my current school. With that being said, I had a hard time making friends at my high school, I felt that I couldn’t really connect with anyone. I still remember my freshman year in Art class, however.

Throughout my life, I have always considered my grandparents to be the foundations that allowed me to establish a sense of who I am and what is important to me; thus, my grandparents (on my mother’s side in particular) are my key ancestors. As my parents were often occupied by work when I was younger, I spent much of my childhood with my grandparents at their house in Madera, CA. Indeed, the fondest childhood memories I have are simply the moments I spent interacting with my grandparents. Past the fond sentiment my grandparents hold in my heart, I can objectively conclude that they are the sole connections I had to my Mexican heritage- without them, I would have had nowhere else to learn how to connect to my heritage. Everything from the family

At the time I was four and Kaden (my brother) was 4 months. The day started off normal, Kaden was sleeping as usually and I was looking out the window watching raindrops race each other. At that moment I remember feeling happy and content just ready to drift off to sleep, when Suddenly the tires started Squealing. My mind was then cast into a sea of darkness that seem to have no escape.

dad Is it wrong that i dont pray for you? I dont know im not sure. i wish you were here. I hate school. But oh well.