I Have A Great Family

I am a Native American male. I am from the Lummi Nation Tribe, but was raised on the Nooksack Indian reservation. My father is the one who raised me. He is an ex-convict who has no income of his own, and never graduated high school. We make rent and pay our bills thanks to support from my grandparents and our tribal assistance. My father is also an ex-drug addict, so he has to attend a methadone clinic every morning to kill his crave for drugs. He is also now an alcoholic, and has been for about two to three years off and on. This is not what has shaped me. Even though he has not been a role model for me I have set my own goals in life. My grandparents both have led decently successful lives, but I do not believe they are the ones who have

I was born in Boston, but raised in Boston and New York. Growing up I was an only child, and my mother had family in all over Queens, New York. My mother is originally from Haiti. When she came to America, she didn’t have much family support. She stayed at my grandparents’ house in Brockton. She was looked down upon by my grandfather for having a child before being married. Instead, she would take a trip to New York every weekend, where her sister lived, to avoid the negativity. Growing

My maternal grandfather was an immigrant from Sicily, Italy, who came over on a boat to Ellis Island, with his mother and two older siblings to pursue a better life with opportunity. He became a “scholarship boy” (Rodriguez 49) and through determination and hard work, he became a civil engineer, designed infrastructures and developed inventions for the government, and was extremely successful. My maternal grandmother on the other hand, was born and raised in the United States, with her family lineage tracing back to the Donner party and distant relative, William Wallace. My grandparents met in Southern California, married, and settled in Santa Barbara. Being of Catholic faith, my grandmother became a stay at home mother, and conceived nine children. When my mother was in middle school, her parents divorced, and they were left to be raised by my grandmother, with the financial support of my grandfather. Being a newly divorced woman, my grandmother began to partake in the lifestyle of the 70’s/ early 80’s. My mother being

Growing up in America has been one of the most unexpected and surreal experiences. I am only twenty three years old but being from the Big Apple, New York and being raised by single parent, nothing in my life has ever been a walk in the park. I am considered a minority because I am Puerto Rican and African American and it has always been tough for me living in such an urban area. Not having the best financial status is what made thing even harder. My mother had to struggle to make ends meet for me, but we made it and are still making it. I have always seen my neighbors, friends, and family also experience the same hardships as me. Many of the people I know had to fight to

So when they moved to North Bethesda, they knew I would have a better head start in life than most other people, African American or Caucasian. I’ve maintained over a 4.0 GPA, with a mix of A’s and B’s . I was raised as a catholic, going to church most every sunday with my father, most people in his country are christians but when he moved to america he converted to catholic. This instilled values into me, to believe in jesus christ and believe that there’s a reason for everything because he set it up that way. I’m the older sister to one (half) brother, who is only six years old with my parents working often it leaves me to be in charge of my brother, which has made me become very domesticated at an early age, and pretty talented in being able to communicate and understand with those at a much younger age than me. I can cook any dish that I have the recipe too, and can make a meal in under 45 minutes. My parents become divorced when I was 4, which instilled values in me to wait till I was mature enough, and also in a long term stable relationship before I get married because to wake up one day and realize I know longer love the person I married is the scariest thing to

Growing up, I was a first generation American. My family emigrated from Egypt seventeen years ago with a dream of starting a life in America. After coming to a new country and leaving their family behind, they had to find a way to start a new life. However, being an immigrant came with many challenges that my parents had to face head on. A few months after my parents and sister moved to America, I was born. Being that my parents never received a full education they struggled only to earn mundane jobs. My mom stayed home to take

I am first generation French-American, born and raised in New York City in a middle class neighborhood, attending catholic school from kindergarten through to 12th grade. Those are the fact, however the details are that while being raised by both parents substantial dysfunction existed within the family unit, which translated in my life into a lack of belonging and identity for countless years. I knew the expectation of being French and American and understood the expected behavior and core values, however the house consisted of tyrannical father who remained absent yet influenced every aspect of the home life and this elusive

What my family doesn’t understand is that I have to work twice as hard because I am Mexican American. I sadly have to prove that I am mexican enough and American enough. I work hard in school I earned my 4.0 GPA just to prove that Mexicans are smart. I work hard to show and prove, that my family risked their own lives to come to this country just so that I can have a better life. I have to prove to my family that I will be successful and show to my peers that I am from this country and they are no better than

I was born in New York City in Harlem hospital on July 26 1989. My parents Gwen and Donald Ames grew up in Pensacola Florida and Norfolk Virginia. They had two different lives growing up. My mom being from Florida mainly grew up around mostly African Americans and in a more country like town. My mom’s father was a pastor at a Baptist church and my grandmother worked for the state. I remember talking to my mom and she said she grew up when segregation was big. She would march and protest against desegregation. My mom went to Florida State where it was predominantly white. She said she had trouble with the transition from being around mostly African American to a school with mostly Caucasian. She felt that she had to prove something. The drive

Growing up as a young African American girl in Philadelphia was not always easy, however, having a strong family structure, old fashion southern culture, and beliefs have molded me into the strong women that I am today. Now that I am a mother, following my family’s culture and beliefs are not always the easiest thing to do. Times has changed and I feel like I am forced to conform to the everyday social norms of America, which makes me feel impuissance. Yes, growing up was not easy, but my family and youth kept me in the dark when it came to how society treats individuals of darker complexion, what to expect once I left the confines of my family and neighborhood, and how to befriend or interact with individuals of other racial groups. All of the things that I listed were things that I had to learn through trial and error, which makes life a little harder than it already is.

My mother worked day and night so I had to care for my sister and cousins. On some occasions I had to help my mom clean houses to earn money. At the age of thirteen up until I was sixteen I was cleaning houses for the people we longed to be. I got a glimpse of a life I have never known. For the most part my mom’s boss was nice, but her family was ignorant at times. They would ask me where I have traveled and if I’ve been to all these kinds of expensive places. When I answered no they asked why not. I guess they didn’t comprehend the fact that my mom and I were cleaning their dishes and making their beds for less than the minimum wage to be able to barely afford the rent of the small room we all

The family I grew up in has been by far the largest influence on how I think, and they have taught me many great things and have been amazing parents, however in this essay I will focus on how my views have differed from theirs, and how I have learned to think differently. My mother is a small town in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma, and my father is from San Antonio, Texas. I have two sisters, one who is eight years old than myself, the other is two and a half years younger. I was born part of the middle class, white, and I 'm a male. Born in Dallas, Texas I 've spent the vast majority of my life in Frisco, Texas. The entirety of my childhood was spent growing up in a Southern Baptist Christian home. From a young age I was taught in church, which I attended for preschool, that an “acceptable” family is a mother and a father with children. This traditional family model was the setting in which I was raised, so I didn 't realize for a long time that

I was born and raised in Kingston Jamaica in an area full of crime and less fortunate people. Growing up, I’ve seen a lot of people with undiagnosed mental illnesses. I’ve seen where there were no resources for people who were in need of food and clothes. Because of the poverty in the environment I grew up in, the crime rate was beyond control. Most of my family lived in what they called a tenement yard. A tenement yard in Jamaica is where a group of close relatives lives and share the same yard. I lived in a house in a tenement yard with my mother, stepfather, half-sister and my half-brother. I also have four other half-sisters on my father’s side, two of them were born and raised in Jamaica in a similar environment like the one I was

“Yes Mommy, Yes Daddy”, a simple “Yes” was never sufficient. As a child of Ghanaian immigrants, I understood that family honor is of the utmost importance in everything I do. For as long as I can remember, I have been told “Be proud of who you are! Always stand up for yourself!Never let anyone make you feel like you are not good enough!”As a young child, I always wondered why my mother kept drilling these lessons into my head. Perhaps she is trying to shield me from the dehumanizing experiences her mother faced, growing up in Jim Crow, Mississippi, or the overt discrimination my grandfather experienced as an international student in Superior, Wisconsin.

I grew up in a low-income, single-parent family on the far south-side of Chicago. My sister and her family also lived with us. They needed a place to stay while they looked for a more affordable house. One thing my family doesn't do is turn our backs on each other. Sociologists who claim to be experts on non-white families have their own words for this type of situation. They derogatorily label this as a poverty-stricken, Black matriarchal extended family who lives in the ghetto. Yet all in all, we were happy because we helped each other. We were not the type of family who wondered what the next meal would be. We always knew we would have food on the table, but the type of food was a different story.