It Takes a Village

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Yelling, criticism, and swearing. These three things are what I experienced from my childhood. I would not misbehave due to fear. Our household was far from amicable. I would have to do my best on any craft I made to avoid the harsh scrutiny of my father. Mom gave me a high five, but my father would only point out that the paint was smudged. As I got a little older, my father would try to solicit his religious beliefs. “God is why we are here,” he would say.

I was loath to accept his religious statement. I made astute points and reasons, in which he would have no answer except, “You are going to hell.”
When I entered high school, I found my father’s yelling and criticism to be vexatious and ineffectual. I wasn’t afraid of him anymore, and the respect I had for him was gone. I realized I only had one parent. Mom helped heal my emotional maladies. She is the one I would go to for anything. But then Mom started working more. I had no one I could go to. My friends and my brother became my support. If I had any questions about school, dating, or life in general, I would immediately go to them.
I had many people involved in my life. When I was little, I only had my mom, but as I began to grow up, I saw more people cared about me. I had friends who loved me. Many people were involved in my upbringing, and for that I am grateful





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