Reflection Paper

I sat on the stairs with tears streaming down my face. I look up, sobbing as I wipe the snot from my nose. “This is goodbye for now, but I promise I will see you soon”, my dad had said as he held me. I grabbed onto my dad’s shirt as he tried to put me back down on the stairs and I felt as if my whole world came crashing down. Growing up with divorced parents was a challenge, but it has changed me drastically and for the better. I had to take care of my younger brother during the divorce, which made our relationship stronger and would mature me more than I would ever actually realize.

My dad was getting dressed nice in a collared shirt and slacks. My aunt Keziah was on her way over to watch my brothers and I was going to a friend’s house. Today the court would decide whether or not we live with my mom or dad. I finally understood. My dad loved my mom. He left because he had too, not because he wanted too. I heard him on the phone saying that it is best for him but not for his children. What was good for us was being where there was no abuse. No aggression. I do not blame you, dad. I believe you have changed. And he did.

The beginning of me. Here is the story I never tell. when I was a little I used to be good, sweet and nice but all that thing had gone and disappear since everything went into the wrong way. My family broke up, my mother leaved us to USA and we (me & my bro) stayed with father. My father who have never ever had responsibility, was be in charge of taking care us. On the first day of his duty, he left us at school, we had to walk home, had no food, could not able to get in inside the house. Luckily, we had a good neighbor she invited us to their house gave us some food and called my father. In my head felt like oh great I have to live with father who don't have no responsible like him forever? But whatever i was young i had nothing to worry about.

When my parents divorced, I didn’t see my father often. The memories I had of him when I was young were usually pleasant, but very few and far between. Instead, I practically lived at

When I was little, I was really close with my dad. My mom had worked nights, so I saw and spent most my time with my dad. I wanted to do everything my dad did. I wanted to be just like my dad, even though I was a girl. I went to my dad for everything when I was little. When I was scared or sick, I would cry for my dad. As I was growing up, my dad’s hobby was going out and riding snowmobiles with his friends. As the years went on my dad’s like for this hobby grew, and he was gone most of the nights in the

During my parents ' divorce, I had learned things no eighth grader should need to know about my parents relationship. The way I viewed my dad changed dramatically based on his efforts to maintain a relationship with me and my sister and his mental health. When I was about to start my freshman year in high school, my dad had officially lost all hope of trying to redevelop a relationship with me. We had family out from his side to celebrate my sister, Olivia’s, communion. To me, it seemed like everything was fine and there was no tension between anyone, however at the end of the ceremony my mom was left in tears and everyone was upset after my dad had yelled at the priest, causing a scene, then leaving the church.

By this time, my mom and dad hadn’t had a normal conversation in months without it ending up as an argument. Shutting us out of her life, not interested in our conversations, Mom kept to herself in her room. She would get home around seven p.m. and continue to work. Keep in mind that she left for work before we woke up in the morning. Between seven and eleven p.m., we had “family” time. Her withdrawing from us made me respect my dad a little more.

I remember one day asking my father why it was that he pushed me so hard and seemed to always expect the best out of me. Upon saying this I saw a softness enter his eyes, one that I had seen before, but in some way one that made me feel sadden as I suddenly saw the age enter his face. I knew he was going to say

My brothers left to school and I was there in eternal slumber until the familiar voice of my mother comes and awakens me. She woke me up and said “Alright since you don’t want to go to school go with your dad to go to work and help him out”. In my young, irresponsible my mind I thought ‘How hard can it be’ and I accepted. I got ready and she prepared anything I needed to use to be with him. I started watching television enjoying the time I had to relax while my dad was waking up and getting ready for work. My dad told me that we were ready to leave and as I passed by the mirror and saw the last glance of a short, young guy in middle school that thought he didn’t have any responsibilities.

It was a Saturday, and it was my mom’s turn to take care of my nine-year-old brother and ten-year-old me for the weekend. My parents lived separately, and we had to live with my mom most of the time. Even so, I tried to contact my dad as often as I could. He was the parent whom I had a stronger connection with. He always did his best to express his care and love toward my brother and me. However, my dad didn’t answer me this time. I sat on the couch and waited in case he would return my call. I glanced around our dull, brown living room waiting, swinging my feet back and forth. Just waiting.

Places of worship in New York City are as diverse as the community they are in. Visiting both Park Avenue Synagogue and St. Vartan’s Cathedral, I witnessed a unity of people in which I have never personally experienced before, as I do not come from a religious background. By attending services during prime times of worship for both places, I was able to see the role of the religion in the community along with how the community influences the religion. These experiences have shown to me rather how important they are to growing a place of worship and how important it is to experience religion in action while studying it.

As a senior in high school, I took a medical chemistry class where I learned about the body systems, general chemistry, a foundation to organic chemistry, and an introduction to biochemistry from a medical point of view. Additionally, the second part of class consisted of going to the hospital and shadowing health care professionals from different areas of the hospital. During that time, I was able to see how pharmacists, nurses, technicians, and doctors all worked together to help their patients. It was an astonishing feeling to see parts of the heart, lung, and liver in the histology lab. I will forever remember this experience because taking this class helped me determine that my career was in the hospital.

As I move through the society of today, it becomes increasingly evident that I face a plethora of stereotypes daily, whether those who burden me with them realize it or not. A majority of these come simply from my race; as an Asian Indian, I am automatically considered by nearly all to be intelligent. Yet a greater number stereotypes come from my disposition; due to of the amount of AP classes that I am taking, many believe that I am organized and must devote all of my time to school, but few of these actually ring true.

As I tell my life story it is hard to reminisce back at the failures and those misunderstood thoughts. I am starting to realize that the pain I faced was supposed to make me into a man, since my father was not there. I don’t blame him for not being there because it was my mother’s decision to leave him when I was four to eight months year old, while my older brother Norman was four years old. My mother had dated my father since they were kids in Jr High School. I know they loved each other but my father was insecure because the beauty that my mother had. He was afraid that she would leave him or was

Even thought my family was not the best my father was not any better. The second my father walked out my front door everything changed. I remember waiting outside my front steps hoping my father’s white pickup truck would pull up in the drive way, and calling him day and night hoping he would answer just so I can hear his voice and know that he was okay. But I never got any of that on the contrary he would tell me to stop calling him and to forget about him because he never loved me and that I was a bother to him. At that moment my heart shattered into millions of pieces and I just wished that it was a horrible joke, but it wasn’t. My father is an alcoholic and he doesn’t always think right he does thing that make him very impulsive. Since he is not in the right mind set I would not want to be around him knowing that