Prompt: Choose an issue of importance to you-the issue could be personal, school related, local, political, or international in scope-and write an essay in which you explain the significance of that issue to yourself, your family, your community, or your generation.
Who is a parent? The person who gives you life, or the one who sacrifices his or her life for you? My difficulties throughout my childhood have helped me figure out an answer for this question.
My parents married when they were just 17 years old. My maternal grandparents tried to persuade them out of it, but my mother had always been a rebellious child. After her second pregnancy, she was diagnosed as bipolar, which marked the fall of her marriage. Every day was a constant argument. My parents would always fight over the smallest details, and forget the damage they were doing to me and my siblings. After discovering that my mother had cheated on my father for the third time, my father filed for divorce. I don't recall the change being gradual, but abrupt. One day I just woke up alone, with both my parents gone, in my grandparents' home. I was only four years old, but already used to staying in their home since they would take me there every time my parents fought. Although I saw my mother several times after being in custody of my grandparents, I never saw my father after my fifth birthday party...
My mother had taken me out to the park for my birthday, but when she found out that my father had come to visit me, she rushed me back home. When we arrived, I found that my dad had brought presents for me and my brother, but not for my younger sister, Elvia. Elvia was born in 2001 and until now, we still don't know who her father is. At that time, I was innocent and naĂŻve. I didn't know about hatred, or what it meant when a woman cheated on her husband; all I knew was that Elvia was my sister, and I felt bad that my father hadn't brought her any toys.
"Did you also bring a present for Elvia?" I asked him.
"No."
"Why not?" I continued to ask.
"Because she's not my daughter"
"But she's your wife's daughter" (I still didn't know that they had divorced) "she is my sister, and you are my father. She is a part of you."
After this conversation, all I can remember is that my mother turned violent. She was yelling, arguing, and breaking down stuff just like before. Her aggressive behavior even ended up calling the police's attention (not the only time it did).
That night, my father asked me to make a choice: I could go live with him, or I could stay and live with my grandparents, but never see him again. I thought about this for a while and realized that I couldn't possibly move away from my loving grandparents and my new baby sister. I loved them, and I didn't want to leave them behind. That night, as I saw my father drive away I didn't shed a tear. I knew I wasn't going to see him again, even when he later told my grandparents that we were dead to him; I never regretted my decision because I had stayed with the people that I truly loved: my grandparents, aunt, sister, and brother. It was after that day that I started calling my grandparents "mom & dad" since a parent is not the one who gives you the gift of life, but the one who cares for you, teaches you, and who pulls you through your hardest struggles.
This proved to be correct because after my parents' divorce, my new family went through numerous struggles. My grandparents had to quit their jobs in order to take care of us full time. My mother had become much more aggressive since my grandparents had our custody, and would threaten my grandparents of taking us away. Therefore, we were constantly moving, which eventually led us to the United States a few years later. In the new country, my grandparents tried to relieve our economic crisis. Once we spent a whole summer without A.C. because we only had enough money for food. Though I struggled to learn the English, I succeeded because my grandparents always supported me. That is why I am determined to break the common stereotype that children raised by grandparents turn out bad, and make the sacrifice of my grandparents-my true parents- count.
Who is a parent? The person who gives you life, or the one who sacrifices his or her life for you? My difficulties throughout my childhood have helped me figure out an answer for this question.
My parents married when they were just 17 years old. My maternal grandparents tried to persuade them out of it, but my mother had always been a rebellious child. After her second pregnancy, she was diagnosed as bipolar, which marked the fall of her marriage. Every day was a constant argument. My parents would always fight over the smallest details, and forget the damage they were doing to me and my siblings. After discovering that my mother had cheated on my father for the third time, my father filed for divorce. I don't recall the change being gradual, but abrupt. One day I just woke up alone, with both my parents gone, in my grandparents' home. I was only four years old, but already used to staying in their home since they would take me there every time my parents fought. Although I saw my mother several times after being in custody of my grandparents, I never saw my father after my fifth birthday party...
My mother had taken me out to the park for my birthday, but when she found out that my father had come to visit me, she rushed me back home. When we arrived, I found that my dad had brought presents for me and my brother, but not for my younger sister, Elvia. Elvia was born in 2001 and until now, we still don't know who her father is. At that time, I was innocent and naĂŻve. I didn't know about hatred, or what it meant when a woman cheated on her husband; all I knew was that Elvia was my sister, and I felt bad that my father hadn't brought her any toys.
"Did you also bring a present for Elvia?" I asked him.
"No."
"Why not?" I continued to ask.
"Because she's not my daughter"
"But she's your wife's daughter" (I still didn't know that they had divorced) "she is my sister, and you are my father. She is a part of you."
After this conversation, all I can remember is that my mother turned violent. She was yelling, arguing, and breaking down stuff just like before. Her aggressive behavior even ended up calling the police's attention (not the only time it did).
That night, my father asked me to make a choice: I could go live with him, or I could stay and live with my grandparents, but never see him again. I thought about this for a while and realized that I couldn't possibly move away from my loving grandparents and my new baby sister. I loved them, and I didn't want to leave them behind. That night, as I saw my father drive away I didn't shed a tear. I knew I wasn't going to see him again, even when he later told my grandparents that we were dead to him; I never regretted my decision because I had stayed with the people that I truly loved: my grandparents, aunt, sister, and brother. It was after that day that I started calling my grandparents "mom & dad" since a parent is not the one who gives you the gift of life, but the one who cares for you, teaches you, and who pulls you through your hardest struggles.
This proved to be correct because after my parents' divorce, my new family went through numerous struggles. My grandparents had to quit their jobs in order to take care of us full time. My mother had become much more aggressive since my grandparents had our custody, and would threaten my grandparents of taking us away. Therefore, we were constantly moving, which eventually led us to the United States a few years later. In the new country, my grandparents tried to relieve our economic crisis. Once we spent a whole summer without A.C. because we only had enough money for food. Though I struggled to learn the English, I succeeded because my grandparents always supported me. That is why I am determined to break the common stereotype that children raised by grandparents turn out bad, and make the sacrifice of my grandparents-my true parents- count.