Essay About Hard Work And Big Part Of Our Family

Child Migration
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Sandra Pineda Professor NevinEnglish 101, MWF 8:30-9:20 a.m.        12 October 2015Rain Drops     I said goodbye as the rain fell on us. Our hug was quick and subtle. I could feel every drop that fell on me because they were as cold as the tears that ran down my face. I walked inside attempting to fall back asleep until I realized that my dad was gone. He was gone and I couldn’t help but cry. Millions of thoughts crossed my mind. I wouldn’t have my dad on the sidelines at my soccer games anymore. My mom had never gone to a game of mine, and it wouldn’t change now. Who would pick me up from school? My dad would never see me cross the stage as I graduated high school. All these thoughts were heartbreaking, but true. I had just ate dinner with him the night before, and in less than 24 hours my life had changed drastically. I closed my eyes in hope of waking up from a nightmare, instead of what seemed like real life. Suddenly I was outside of a sports wear store. We were walking around looking for my annual pair of soccer cleats. Every year I got two pairs, one for indoor and the other pair for outdoor soccer. I was sitting down waiting for my dad to bring me the right size, instead he came out with six pairs. I giggled as he was trying to juggle them all and said, “Thanks dad, but I only need one pair.” I owned more cleats than shoes and it was because of my dad. I loved cleat shopping, it was like a holiday. Soccer had always been a big part of our family, and as he walked away he took that little part with him. I opened my eyes, gasped, and thought to myself some more. What made everything worse was that I thought I had an inseparable connection with him, but it wasn’t strong enough to make him stay with me.     I didn’t know who to blame. Was it my mother’s fault that he left? Was it because of his own stupidity that he left? I guess I always knew the answer but I never wanted to accept it to myself. I never wanted to believe that my dad had an alcohol problem. I remember staying up late waiting for him to come home. I never wanted to admit that my parents couldn’t bear each other any longer. They were constantly fighting for one reason or another and I was always there to watch it. My brother never really paid attention to our family issues because he wasn’t as emotionally invested like I was. I always thought we would be the perfect family because in some ways we used to be. We ate every meal together, we went to church together every Sunday, but most importantly we were happy. Somehow in the midst of life everything changed. My dad changed, our family changed, everything changed.      The day he left all of us had to adjust to our new lives. My mom had to work long days, working up to three jobs in one day in order to support my brother and baby sister. I disliked my dad because I watched her come home some nights weary, but she never complained. That’s all I did though, I complained and I hated that I wasn’t a regular teenager like all of my friends. I had to accompany my mom to every doctor’s appointment, or to pay a bill because I was her form of translation. I spent most days babysitting my sister. When I wasn’t at school, or at soccer I was at home alone with Gally. I remember one day I had to bundle up my sister on a frozen winter day. I had to call someone for a ride and I was furious that my brother wouldn’t stay with my sister. I had to go down to the police station and pay my mom’s parking ticket that she had gotten. She had waited until the last day and now I was rushing to get it fixed. There were times where I felt my sister was my own child. We spent most days together. I knew everything she liked and disliked. I knew her favorite toys, I knew her better than anyone else. I had to call and make doctor appointments for all of us when we needed them. If a bill wasn’t paid on time it somehow became my fault because I hadn’t been on top of things. When Gally was sick and cried all night I stayed up with her. My mom had a tiring day ahead of her and I didn’t want to keep her up. At fifteen I knew how to be an adult, not by choice but because I had to.     My junior year of high school my mom decided to start a new life with my step-dad in Florida. They had been together for several years and I was happy that she had found someone that appreciated her the way any women should feel. She no longer had to work long exhausting days. He treated my siblings and I as if we were his own. But when we all had to go Florida I didn’t like it anymore. My mom never asked how I felt about moving as if my opinion never mattered. I was livid because she expected me to leave everything behind. It was so sudden and March creeped up sooner than expected. I left my friends and boyfriend, connections that I hoped didn’t fade like that of my mom and mine eventually did. We argued almost every day because I never let go the fact that she made me move. I emphasized how much I had helped her and how much my life had revolved around hers, but why couldn’t she do the same for me. We both exchanged words that we would take back in a heartbeat. Slowly our relationship became non-existent. I would come home from school and headed straight to my room not wanting to associate with anyone. I would yell at my sister because all she wanted to do was hang out with me, but all I wanted to do was be alone. My mom always had this control over me and I never knew how to say no. I always put everyone before me. My education was highly affected because my school in Florida didn’t offer the AP classes that I was taking in Utica. All my hard work had gone down the drain, at least I thought it had. She was so overprotective of me and I hated it. On my eighteenth birthday I spent it on home because she wouldn’t let me go out with my friends. A couple months after I turned eighteen I decided to move back to Utica. At the moment I never knew why I decided to separate myself from home. Part of it was because of my boyfriend, part of it was because Utica was home, and part of it was because I was tired of being on my mom’s leash.