It is lifeâ€™s experiences and lessons that mold a person into who they become. Since I was born, my whole life has been a struggle. My mother gave birth to me at the age of sixteen; she was still a child herself. Unable to provide the proper care for me, I was left in the hands of my godmother for several years. During those years, my mother proceeded to give birth to my two sisters, Dominique and Janexia. All of us are exactly one year apart and all of us were left in the hands of someone other then our mother. When I reached the age of six, my mother was able to get her stuff together and take us into her apartment with her new boyfriend, Carlos.
For the next six years, domestic violence is all I witnessed. Many nights my sisters and I witnessed the smacking, punching and kicking ...view middle of the document...
He promised me that he would never touch my mother again. My mother and stepfather never laid another finger on each other. They got married and had my little brother Michael.
Soon, the lonely nights began because Carlos worked second shift; during the day he slept and at night he worked. Mom was going to school during the night to become a hairdresser. I was forced to be mom and dad to my younger siblings at the age of 14. I would cook them supper, help them with their homework, send them to bathe and put them to bed. Then, I did my schoolwork so I would not fall behind. I only had two people that I could count on during this time in my life, the lord and myself.
School was also my savior. When I was in school, I was able to be a kid. I always got involved in as much as I could. I was in student council, select chorus, dance choir; I volunteered at the Youth Center as a mentor and worked with children in preschool. I did all of this because it was a chance for me to do what I wanted to do and to be able to help children who I could relate to. Because of my achievement and involvement in the community, I faced a lot of adversity from other Latinos who felt I was trying to be better than them and from the white kids who felt I was trying to be like them. I did not let that affect me; I did what I had to do to ensure my future.
Back at home, mom and Carlos were not getting along again. There was no physical abuse but there was verbal abuse, arguing, screaming, cursing and yelling. After thirteen years together, they divorced, and the man who became my father had to leave. I had to get a job my freshman year to help my mother out as much as I could. She worked four jobs to provide for the four of us and keep us in the house that she and Carlos worked so hard to buy.
Now that my two sisters and I are in high school, it is easier for mom to relax.