immediate family
Blood makes you related, loyalty makes you family.
Those Bright blue eyes.
To be my hero; he had to be more than just an ordinary man. He had to be my father, my superman I called him. A man who had served in the army, and hunted Deer, an archery man. Who seemed to grimace when I shot the arrows under the house. Or nearly killed a bird that was flying over, with my inexperienced shot.
By Hope Joy Sargent5 years ago in Families
A letter to my hero , my Aunt
A letter to my hero, my Aunt Dear Aunt Lubby, You might not know it, I might not say it but you’re my hero. You encouraged me to use my gift of writing. You knew that I was good at writing. When I stopped writing for a few years, you would say “have you been writing? You need to start back writing!” You know that I am good at writing, and you don’t want me to waste my gift. You’re the reason I started back writing stories and poems. All heroes do not wear capes. You definitely don’t wear capes. You wear dresses, sandals, and head wraps around your beautiful dreadlocks. All heroes don’t have superpowers like the ones in the movies, like flight,, or the superpower where the hero or superhero can disappear. Some people have regular people powers.. Aunt Lubby you have regular people powers,, your powers consist of uplifting your love ones, motivating your love ones, and loving on your love one’s. Even when I wasn’t uplifting and motivating myself, you always lift me up. You always motivate me, on a regular basis. Dear Aunt Lubby, you are my hero, you showed me what strength is. You showed me what super strength is. The type of strength that you have is out of this world, let’s call it super strength. You are one of the strongest people that I know. You’re stronger than an ox! No matter what came your way I never seen you give up. You just pick yourself up, and keep going. Watching you and seeing your strength on a day to day basis, I know that I have to be like you and never give up, I have to keep pushing. I always come to you for advice. You are always there to tell me what you think I should or shouldn’t do. You are always there to assist me whenever I need you. You have made a positive impact on my life. You made a positive impact through your words of advice, your words of Encouragement, your motivation, and your love. Aunt Lubby, you are so protective. You make sure that I’m n in harms way. You constantly call me and check on me. You always make sure I make it home safe from any destination. That’s one if the reasons that I look up to you. I’m so Thankful to have a aunt like you. You have done so much for me. The things that you have done have shaped me into the amazing human being that I am today. You have done so much and you don’t expect money or any type of reward for what you do. Even when you’re not your best. Even when you’re not feeling good, you’re always there for me. You’re always telling me how proud of me you are. You’re always there pushing me, making sure that I reach my full potential. No my hero does not fly across the world like a superhero in the books. My hero does run to my side every time that I need her. Aunt Lubby you are always there to save the day. You save the day when it’s something that I don’t understand, and I call you for answers. You save the day when you listen to me vent. You save the day when you take a load off of me. You save the day when you push me by encouraging me to “Do it!” When I don’t feel like it, or when I lose interest in something you push me. You’re my hero, you don’t need a cape, you don’t need superpowers. You were born with your own set of unique powers. I love you, I look up to you, I admire you. I’m so thankful and happy that you’re apart of my life.
By Janelle Garrison5 years ago in Families
My little girls
I am going to start with my childhood. My childhood wasn’t a loving happy place for me. I didn’t have the loving sweet parents like I thought everyone else had. I didn’t have a great childhood at all. In fact it was violent and abusive. But I had met my girls dad when I was 12 and I fell in love with him. Then I got pregnant with my first daughter. She was so beautiful. Everyone always said she was the most beautiful baby they ever saw. But I didn’t know what I was doing because I was just 16. I had her sister 3 years later then I had my 3rd daughter 4 years after my middle daughter. So they are pretty spaced out. I was a horrible mother and I didn’t even know. I just did what I was taught. I always yelled and threatened but never followed through with my threats lol. But the main thing is that all of my kids are successful and I’m very proud of them. I have so much to say about my life I don’t know where to start so I’m just going to start with my kids. I love everyone of them just the same. They’re equally beautiful and smart. They all have their own personality and attitude lol. I don’t want anyone to think I didn’t do right by my kids because I saw I was a horrible mother. I just mean I feel guilty for not being like ‘June cleaver’ I was loving unlike my parents. But I just didn’t know how to be a mom. I only got pregnant to get out of my parents house. I didn’t realize it was going to be a lifelong thing. But I did the best I could do with what I knew. I love my girls. Very much. But I have to admit.. the grandkids are even better lol. Anyway. I had my oldest daughter when I was 16. I went in labor on thanksgiving day 1994. I couldn’t even eat thanksgiving dinner. I was in hard labor. I had her at 12:05 am the next morning. Most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I had her at just the right time in my life. She weighed 8 pounds and 6 1/2 ounces. 21 1/2 inches long. My mother of course was there. My girls daddy was there. And after I had her my room was full of family and friends backed all the way out my door down the hall. I wasn’t really with it I hadn’t slept in 24 hours and pushing and all that pain. But it was worth it. She brought my 3 oldest grandkids into the world. I couldn’t be happier. I then got pregnant with my middle daughter. I was 19 years old. I still wasn’t really experienced at being a mom. I know I made mistakes and I’m really getting punished for them now. I had my middle daughter just at the right time also. She was also the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I had her at4:15 am in a different hospital than I had my oldest in. But I also didn’t have insurance. It was still a wonderful experience. My mom was there of course but their daddy wasn’t. She weighed 7 pounds 15 1/2 ounces. 20 inches long. She was my short chunky baby. I think she was my best one as far as crying and screaming. She never made a peep. Then 4 years later I had my last one. My youngest and most beautiful thing I had ever seen as well. She weighed 9 pounds 3 ounces and 21 1/2 inches long. She was my biggest one and most mean one lol. She’s very sweet like my other two. I also had her at a different hospital than my other two. All 3 of them were birthed at different hospitals. Their daddy was there for the last one. Just not my middle one. I hope you all enjoyed my short story of my 3 girls that I love so much.
By Shelley Dorsey5 years ago in Families
My Tennessee Hero
A hero is defined as a person who is admired for their courage, outstanding achievements, or their noble qualities. Most everyone, if not everyone has a hero, whether it be a family member, famous celebrity, or some random person you admire a whole lot. My Hero doesn’t have super power’s or a cape, rather she is a strong and courageous woman who has always been there for me, My Tennessee Hero is my beautiful mom, Melinda Keen.
By Wendy Cherry5 years ago in Families
Marshel
I am telling you this from the get go, I have never been much of an animal person. When I was growing up we didn't have pets because I was severely allergic. All I was was allowed were the occasional goldfish or turtle my father would spring for when we went to the circus. But, I never longed for a pet either.
By Nancy Wergeles5 years ago in Families
’Sova-Sava’ and ‘Bee’, you’re family.
In 1900s America, many families were poor especially those with an immigrant father. But I had always felt like the richest boy in existence; being born in 1900, I had three parents and in 1911, I’d gained a sister that I loved more than anything in the world. I loved how different my parents were; each in their own way, teaching me something different about life. My mom, Anna Katherine Williams, was a Christian American; my dad, Mikhail Uri Feldman, was a Russian Jew; my Nan, was a Christian Mexican, Bernadette Renata Ortiz; my little sister was named Sarah Renata Feldman; and my own name was Joshua Uri Feldman. Though I was proud of my family, certain things needed to be kept secret. Like my name; ‘Joshua’ was for the outside world while ‘Uri’ was for home. That’s just how it was.
By Scarlet Bobkins5 years ago in Families
Against The Grain
“Just eat it. It’s not gonna grow inside you.”, he said with a tone so passive that it seemed like he was just a passerby. Like he didn’t also eat this same cereal out of this same box every morning. In fact… “Did you have cereal… breakfast already?”, I say with a nervous stutter, trying carefully to tiptoe around any words that would come from my complex about eating food infested with the larvae of bugs. I screw my eyes up, hoping that he would think of it as innocent, completely detached from the previous conversation, but knowing that he had been around me long enough to know exactly what I was doing. That was another one of the things I did that annoyed him. He never failed to complain about my peculiar speaking patterns and stutter whenever they surfaced in a conversation. I heard his rants on my way of talking on a consistent enough basis that I have found out that he pretty much recycles the same speech every time. I say rant when I talk to my friends about him; tangent has too much of a congenial connotation to accurately describe what he does, and diatribe makes it seem like he slowly picks apart a view or state of mind piece by piece using sound logic and reasoning(neither of which he seems to have in droves) until there would be no way to defend the opposing argument. But there is nothing to argue against here, in my speech. I am not saying anything with the way that I say things, it is just how I work. I never construe my logic for a particular sentence maliciously; when I dislike somebody and I want to subtly hurt them, I don’t try to speak in the way most offensive to their ears, using sentence structure like one would use their fists. Every little ounce of pain that I supposedly dealt to people is accidental. And anyways, if he did manage to pick apart my logic, I wouldn’t exist. It’s something hard wired into me.I say supposedly because I don’t actually think that anyone minds it, maybe their subconscious picks it up but nothing more. No one has ever came to me asking that I please adjust my natural speaking to something more palatable except for my dad and people I go to that he sends me to, people that tell me how to appease my dad. He says it will tick people off, drive people away, make people avoid me without them even knowing why or any other synonym from a seemingly endless list he has in his head that he developed for this exact reason. He would begin with his signature opening statement. This was the heart and soul of his argument. “No one else in the world is like you.”, he would sigh. I couldn’t really argue with that one. He was factually correct. But I didn’t care enough to waste my breath telling him that, in fact, everyone was different from the very small quirks of their mannerisms to their broader personality traits and their identity as a complete being. I don’t think he would like it, he would think it very matter-a-fact and blunt and just feed into his anger. Either that, or it would pass right through him. He was always going to construe my every action in this way, just like how I would always act in the way that I act He would then follow it up with “Why do you care about this.”, “If you’re picky and very particular like this, nobody’s going to put up with you. I do because I’m your dad, but the outside world isn’t going to be as sympathetic and you will get nowhere in life.”, or even “Just do what everyone else would in your shoes. It will make your life a whole lot easier. I don’t see why you make this so hard for yourself.”. At this point in the “talk” as he called them, I would start to tune out. I knew what was coming. A breakdown of all the “weird” things I did that both he and I really knew didn’t matter to other people. One sentence after another, like bullets flying from an automatic rifle. By the time he was finished, it had taken longer than if we just had done things my way. “Are you listening to me, or did you ask a question and drift off again?”, he said, with a distinct look of expected disappointment in his tone. His tone immediately startled me and sent my heart rate skyrocketing. “I said that I didn’t care about things like that the same way that you do. No one does.”, he said, this time less forceful, but it still bred frustration in me just like the last sentence. “I didn’t know that not wanting bugs in my food that I eat every morning and every night wasn’t normal. Seems pretty reasonable to me.” There was fire and vitriol from my words, powered from my upset state like it was an engine. But there was also something else. Force. I started to get more forceful and less whiny as I got older, it was part of my germinating confidence as a teenager. “You’re growing more cocky by the day. You’re starting to test my patience now. I don’t know why I put up with you anymore.”, he said. I fired back immediately. “You said that like you can choose to not be my dad.”. “Well I can certainly stop being so nice. I spoil you rotten and this is my thanks?”, he said with a tone that was almost intended for me to yell back at him. That’s what he wanted. “Yep. Spoil me rotten. Spoil me with a house that’s infested with flour moths.”,I whispered out of sheer anger, not thinking. A moment later I put my head on the table, regret slowly filling me like water. I guarantee that my dad waited so long just so that I could suffer with worry as greatly as I did in anticipation of his next action. He made sure my worry was not unfounded, as he got up slowly from his chair in the living room and made his way to the kitchen. Once there, he took the box of cereal from the kitchen table. I half heartedly raised my hand and opened my mouth, but I knew I was too late. I didn’t know exactly what he was going to do, but I didn’t need to: I knew that it was going to be bad. He stormed out to the trash can outside, then emptied the contents of the box into the trash can. He shook it even after I was sure everything was gone, making sure there was absolutely nothing left. My eyes just followed him as he came back in, making sure not to look at me. He sat back down and went back to working. I just watched him as he watched the screen, acting like nothing was out of the ordinary. Suddenly, the door flew open, startling me out of my seat. My mom was home. Even just after she entered, I felt my heart slow, calm was restored within me. I felt like a weight had just been lifted from my shoulders: the weight of my father. The weight of all the “problems” I had. I always liked my mom a lot more than my father. There was never the uncomfortable tension between us like there was with my father. She knew the behaviors that made my dad treat me like a bane to his existence, sent to him by god for sinning in a past life. The air felt free when she came home. Sadly, she had a job that made her spend more time away from home than my father’s, so I was always picked up by my father. I really enjoyed waiting an hour before she came home, barely even talking to my dad. “I’m home.”, she said, almost on cue with my thoughts. ‘What’s happening here?”, she said with great genuine curiosity in her voice, even if she knew what had just happened moments before she arrived at the doorstep of the house, there would not be a trace of venom laced within those words. My dad didn’t immediately respond. Then he actually registered that she was there by his chair, and he responded with a voice so devoid of life, even for my dad, that I wondered if he had been replaced with a machine that day and I just didn’t notice it up until that point. “Oh, nothing major. Just the usual inconveniences.”, he said while looking straight at me. I seethed and balled my hands, the only reason I didn’t rush at him and sock him right in the face was my mom. “Well, ok.”, she said with an unsure smile and went back to her room to work. I took the opportunity to join her up until the hallway split into our two rooms, and then I turned into my room instead of hers. I wondered just how the flour moth eggs could still be in the house. We had kept all of our flour in containers, containers with supposedly tight lids. I wonder if we could get airtight lids, maybe the moths could get inside the containers with just a basic lid to keep insects out. I winced when I saw the prices, and my hope and sudden burst of energy slowly faded the farther down the amazon page I went. There was no way my father would ever agree with these prices. He thinks it’s all silly, just a little game I’m playing with him. An idea pops into my head.I have to work to contain myself from laughter, the very thought is absurd. Apparently, barn owls eat flour moth’s eggs without really liking flour at all. I took my computer off my lap and put it on the bed. I walked over to the door to mom’s room and knocked. She came to the door almost immediately.
By John Marion5 years ago in Families
Open Letter to my Hero
You were my role model, my hero, and my Grandmother. You were there for us when our parents had to work. You were there for every local United Kennel Club tournament I was competing in. You were there for every basketball game and chorus concert. Thank you. Even when I knew you shouldn't have shown up. You still came to my Jr. & Sr. prom pictures, my Sr. Homecoming, and by the Grace of God you were able to make it to my Graduation. Thank you.
By Jessica Harris5 years ago in Families
