All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
The wind blew that day across Mayford High School, bending it forwards and backwards. I clutched my jacket around me tighter and held my food tray steady, making sure my food didn’t blow away. I reached for my hood and yanked it out from underneath my backpack and pulled it up over my head, but the wind blew it right back off. â€˜UGG,’ I thought to myself. I started to head around the building to where I was meeting my friends. As I came around the corner I could hear my friends talking. At first I didn’t care to know what they were talking about, until I realized that they were talking about me!
“She can be so controlling sometimes, it’s like she thinks that she can just boss us around.”
“I know, right?” I could hear Liz say, “And then you’ll be joking around with her and all of a sudden she will get all serious about it. She is way too sensitive about some stuff.”
As they continued to talk tears welled up in my eyes. â€˜Why would they say stuff like this? Am I really that mean?’ I thought it over in my head and suddenly I had a reason why I was like this. My father.
It was my seventh birthday and my daddy was coming home from work with my present. The door opened and I ran to meet him.
“Daddy! Daddy!” I yelled. As I ran towards him my dad ignored me and walked into the kitchen.
“Meredith!” He yelled, “Merideth, where the hell are you?”
“Mommy’s asleep,” I said to my dad as I watched him rumble through the fridge.
“Ben, what do you want?” my mom said in a raspy voice. I turned around to see my mom. She was very thin then, just skin and bones.
“Where’s the food?” My father demanded. “I work ten hours a day for you and you can’t make me a decent plate of food?”
“I was going to make you some, but I fell asleep, because I didn’t feel good. Did you bring Jen her present? She has been looking forward to it all day.”
“What are you talking about?!” My father demanded.
“It is your daughter’s birthday today, I told you that yesterday and you said you’d get her something.” My mother said, trying to stay calm.
“You never told me anything! And if you did, I probably didn’t hear you because I was looking for something to EAT!” My father looked over at me to see if I was paying any attention and then screamed, “Jen, go to your room!”
“Don’t yell at her like that! Today is her birthday!”
“Does it look like I care?” my father shot back. “No one does anything around here for me! Why should I have to do anything for her? Huh? Why don’t you?”
“You know I’m sick,” my mother said in a weak voice.
“Yeah, your sick alright, but yet you can take care of her at home all day and do everything for her, but nothing for me.”
My father looked over at me with anger in his eyes that I will never forget. His eyes seemed to light up with a red fire when he was angry. His lips got really small and he pressed them together real tight like. I could see that he was breaking out in a sweat and I knew I should make a run for my room. But it was too late; my father grabbed me by the arm and swung me over to him, digging his fingers into my arm.
“If this was never born,” my father said while taking his finger and pushing it against my head, “then none of this would have happened!”
My eyes started to tear up, and I let them roll down my cheeks while struggling to get away from my father.
“Stay still!” he yelled at me.
“Let her go!” my mother said reaching for me. I reached out my other hand to grab hers, but my father yanked me back, causing me to hit my head on the table and fall onto the floor.
“Jen!” my mother screamed.
“Listen to me!” my father said in a stern voice while grabbing my mother by the throat, “I don’t want to have anything to do with you or her! You understand? I am so tired of this place, I am leaving! And don’t you even think about coming after me!”
I opened my eyes and tried to hold back the tears while shaking off the horrible memory. He left us that day. He walked out of the room and out of our lives forever, never coming back. Two weeks later a letter came in the mail with divorce papers saying that he would get everything. One week later we were evicted from our house into the outside world. He was right about one thing though, I should have never been born. If I wasn’t, my mother would not have gotten sick. She developed a disease when she was pregnant with me and never recovered. If I hadn’t been born my father would have been here and my mother would be happy. My friends would have been fine without me. If only….if only.
After Dad left, I had to take care of my mom, clean, wash, cook, do the errands and bring in some income when I could. I had odd jobs until I was old enough to actually work, which was about 2 months ago. The rest of the money that I didn’t bring in came in through the government. I never went to sleepovers, never got any presents, never got to go to the park. My childhood was stolen from me. And I have no way of getting it back.
I wiped the tears away from my eyes, grabbed my food and headed around the building to my friends, because they had no idea what I’ve gone through. They just look and judge.
Don’t judge people by their looks or character. You don’t know where they come from.