Going through Theils idea's for revision I decided to chose number one on page 90 which reads: Look at a short piece of your nonfiction. What details are most crucial to creating the tone of the piece? Are there any important details you can identify that need further elaboration?
I chose a piece of writing that we worked on September 14Th, I believe the prompt was to write about scars that we have on our bodies. I wrote to following
Left leg, to the right of my shin, lies a large circle that is a dim, pinkish, purple bruise. It is there every day of my life and has been for the past two years. When I get cold its color resembles that of a child who's lips turn blue because the refuse to get out of the pool. This scar on my body is more than an ugly marking that needs to be covered up every time i wear a skirt or dress. Looking down at my damaged leg is like an automatic flashback to the most frightening night of my life. The accident. This abnormality invokes fear into my bones, visions of terror, but also a feeling of safety; my friend may even call it a life saver.
The tone of this piece is a disgust with a scar on my body. I feel that this comes across by the way it is explained and the words that are used. Such as ugly, abnormality, and the fact that it needs to be covered up. These details are needed so the audience can truly understand that it is not supposed to be there, and I do not want it to be there.
To make this into a longer piece and to elaborate on the scar its self I would need an insane amount of details added. The description of the scar itself would need to be more elaborate, I could add what happens to it when I am hot, or right after the shower. Showing that when i change so does my scar. Also because I stated that it invokes fear, i would need to give examples of what i see when i have my flashback of that night. I could talk about what it looked like when it first happened, a couple days after, once it really began to heal, and other peoples reactions to it. I did an essay about scars for the first part of the semester, but now that I am looking at this piece and exploring how i could revise it; i think this would make an excellent essay choice for essay number four, or something along those lines.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Blog 19
Essay number four:
“Why do we have to go to another store today? We have gone into about ten already and the only thing that anyone has found are shells and candles, I am hungry” This was a typical statement from my brother whenever the girls had a shopping day on vacation, and I never quite understood why he still came along every time we went. Usually shopping days occurred after at least half of the family had got sun burnt and needed a day away from the sun. I was usually the starter of this, for I somehow always forgot to re-apply around the second day and had to spend time lying on a couch in severe pain. Yet this was how it went, long drive, food, play, burn then shop. Besides fishing shopping was one of my favorite things to do when we were all together. I found it amusing when the men would get angry, and when my step mom would get all worked up and frantic when one of us went missing, even though we were just on the other side of the store. This was my family, crazy lunatics all coming together to look at little nick-knacks that were thrown about the store attempting to find the best deal. At this point in the day it was getting to be about one so everyone was getting hungry and the boys were done, done, done and for them it was time for beach and beer. Now although I was leading towards their thinking I spotted something out of the corner of my eye that brought be back. There it was shoved behind a coffee mug that had some silly statement on it; it had twelve sides, four letters, and an engraving that probably took a mere twenty minutes to carve. It was a little larger than the size of my palm and shared my pale complexion, although I had a red tint due to the burn. It was simple and elegant; there was just something about it that spoke to me, so I bought it. It was 3.95, cost less than the McDonald’s breakfast that I had earlier that day. I showed it to my younger sister and she said it was pretty, my step mom also had the same reaction, but I knew to them it was just another object that could be collected from our vacations. To me though it was special, I knew it would serve more of a purpose then just a memory of shopping with the family that year.
The remainder of vacation went like this. I slowly began to heal so I managed to venture out into the sun again, but with heavy duty protection, and always had a t-shirt on hand. My siblings and I all just hung out, laughed, ate A LOT, watched movies, drank, and tried to put out of our minds the ending of this vacation and returning to work. No one ever wants to leave, not just because we aren’t working, but because there are seven of us in our family so to get us all together in one place takes a lot of effort, but means the world when it happens. Our last day arrived, we packed, doubled checked the house and headed back to reality. We all had something to bring home with us, shells, pictures, some scars from falling while intoxicated, and in the bottom of my purse wrapped in tissue paper was my souvenir.
As we rode home and I got tired of listening to music and playing games with the family, I rolled over and un-wrapped the gift I bought myself. Now in my possession it still held so much beauty I was not able to look at it and not smile. I felt calm holding it, this was a help specially the way my father happened to be driving at the moment, and it seemed to have a power that only I could feel. I could hold it in one hand, but chose to use two because I could not imagine dropping it, I held it close to me for awhile just thinking about the trip and feel asleep with it in my arms.
After a total of around eleven hours we finally returned home, I packed up the remainder of my things and got into my car to travel back to Jersey. I took a lot away from the trip but most importantly I had my special souvenir. I threw I pack into my purse to make my journey home and took it out once I was all settled in. I took a moment just sitting there on my bed looking at it, studying the detail, even though as I mentioned it probably did not take too long, and I envied who ever did the engravings. Then I took my pointer finger and traced the four letters that were written down the front. First two parallel lines with a small horizontal line in the middle, then a perfect oval with no mistakes, next a straight line with a moon half full attached to it, and the last one I traced went left, down, right, left, down, right. Four letters that were the main reason why I looked at this knick knack, they spelled out the word H O P E. A word that is very important in my life. For I have taught myself that no matter what has gone wrong in my life that the only thing that I can do is to never give up hope. Sitting there on my bed, sad to be home, this word and this artifact left me with a feeling of security. All that was left to do was the find a place to put it. All around my room there were items of sentimental value that I was sure to save, but most of the time I just threw around my room without care. I could not do that with this item, I needed it to be in a place that could always be seen, a place that was close to me, and a place that my cats could not get to. I peered around for a while and decided that my night stand would be the best place, so every night before I went to bed I would be able to look over at it.
For what felt like the 100th time I was sick again. I couldn’t breathe, my fever was spiking, and my whole body was in pain. It was a part of my yearly routine being sick all the time, but this year it was just too much. No one seemed to care anymore, because it happened so often, I was like the girl who cried sick. I felt like I had nothing and nothing could get better, until I rolled over and saw it. I had changed its surroundings a bit now there was a candle and a plastic flower that went around the base of the. Those four little letters again were there, and I started to feel better. Of course my insides were not magically getting better, but my spirit was lifting at I was at least able to sleep. From this point I am stumped! I do not know if because I have been out of it lately so I have writers block but I cannot figure out where to go from here. As always I have trouble with my focus, I know that it has to deal with , what in people lives keeps them going when things are bad. Other than that I am lost. HELP!
“Why do we have to go to another store today? We have gone into about ten already and the only thing that anyone has found are shells and candles, I am hungry” This was a typical statement from my brother whenever the girls had a shopping day on vacation, and I never quite understood why he still came along every time we went. Usually shopping days occurred after at least half of the family had got sun burnt and needed a day away from the sun. I was usually the starter of this, for I somehow always forgot to re-apply around the second day and had to spend time lying on a couch in severe pain. Yet this was how it went, long drive, food, play, burn then shop. Besides fishing shopping was one of my favorite things to do when we were all together. I found it amusing when the men would get angry, and when my step mom would get all worked up and frantic when one of us went missing, even though we were just on the other side of the store. This was my family, crazy lunatics all coming together to look at little nick-knacks that were thrown about the store attempting to find the best deal. At this point in the day it was getting to be about one so everyone was getting hungry and the boys were done, done, done and for them it was time for beach and beer. Now although I was leading towards their thinking I spotted something out of the corner of my eye that brought be back. There it was shoved behind a coffee mug that had some silly statement on it; it had twelve sides, four letters, and an engraving that probably took a mere twenty minutes to carve. It was a little larger than the size of my palm and shared my pale complexion, although I had a red tint due to the burn. It was simple and elegant; there was just something about it that spoke to me, so I bought it. It was 3.95, cost less than the McDonald’s breakfast that I had earlier that day. I showed it to my younger sister and she said it was pretty, my step mom also had the same reaction, but I knew to them it was just another object that could be collected from our vacations. To me though it was special, I knew it would serve more of a purpose then just a memory of shopping with the family that year.
The remainder of vacation went like this. I slowly began to heal so I managed to venture out into the sun again, but with heavy duty protection, and always had a t-shirt on hand. My siblings and I all just hung out, laughed, ate A LOT, watched movies, drank, and tried to put out of our minds the ending of this vacation and returning to work. No one ever wants to leave, not just because we aren’t working, but because there are seven of us in our family so to get us all together in one place takes a lot of effort, but means the world when it happens. Our last day arrived, we packed, doubled checked the house and headed back to reality. We all had something to bring home with us, shells, pictures, some scars from falling while intoxicated, and in the bottom of my purse wrapped in tissue paper was my souvenir.
As we rode home and I got tired of listening to music and playing games with the family, I rolled over and un-wrapped the gift I bought myself. Now in my possession it still held so much beauty I was not able to look at it and not smile. I felt calm holding it, this was a help specially the way my father happened to be driving at the moment, and it seemed to have a power that only I could feel. I could hold it in one hand, but chose to use two because I could not imagine dropping it, I held it close to me for awhile just thinking about the trip and feel asleep with it in my arms.
After a total of around eleven hours we finally returned home, I packed up the remainder of my things and got into my car to travel back to Jersey. I took a lot away from the trip but most importantly I had my special souvenir. I threw I pack into my purse to make my journey home and took it out once I was all settled in. I took a moment just sitting there on my bed looking at it, studying the detail, even though as I mentioned it probably did not take too long, and I envied who ever did the engravings. Then I took my pointer finger and traced the four letters that were written down the front. First two parallel lines with a small horizontal line in the middle, then a perfect oval with no mistakes, next a straight line with a moon half full attached to it, and the last one I traced went left, down, right, left, down, right. Four letters that were the main reason why I looked at this knick knack, they spelled out the word H O P E. A word that is very important in my life. For I have taught myself that no matter what has gone wrong in my life that the only thing that I can do is to never give up hope. Sitting there on my bed, sad to be home, this word and this artifact left me with a feeling of security. All that was left to do was the find a place to put it. All around my room there were items of sentimental value that I was sure to save, but most of the time I just threw around my room without care. I could not do that with this item, I needed it to be in a place that could always be seen, a place that was close to me, and a place that my cats could not get to. I peered around for a while and decided that my night stand would be the best place, so every night before I went to bed I would be able to look over at it.
For what felt like the 100th time I was sick again. I couldn’t breathe, my fever was spiking, and my whole body was in pain. It was a part of my yearly routine being sick all the time, but this year it was just too much. No one seemed to care anymore, because it happened so often, I was like the girl who cried sick. I felt like I had nothing and nothing could get better, until I rolled over and saw it. I had changed its surroundings a bit now there was a candle and a plastic flower that went around the base of the. Those four little letters again were there, and I started to feel better. Of course my insides were not magically getting better, but my spirit was lifting at I was at least able to sleep. From this point I am stumped! I do not know if because I have been out of it lately so I have writers block but I cannot figure out where to go from here. As always I have trouble with my focus, I know that it has to deal with , what in people lives keeps them going when things are bad. Other than that I am lost. HELP!
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Blog 18
Blog 18:list some places that have been important in your life; if possible, go to one of them and write in your writing journal about what you see => use this writing to create a blog entry where you use description to make a point/reflect on a realization (like McPhee). Do not state your reflection directly.
Swing set
My dads house
the frront porch
my car
The shower
Where can you go to breathe?
Theres a place I know about where the world does not exsist. It is quiet, warm, and safe. This place can serve many purposes to different people, it can be taken for granted or just the opposite, be a blessing. For me this is my escape. Surrounded by three walls and a curtain I am
untouchable. When I am here my senses are at their highest levels. The aromas in the air mixed with the hot steam take me far away from the outside world. Sometimes I just close my eyes and stand there allowing my senses to run wild. I smell the carribbean and feel thousands of sensual pricks of heat all over my body. Then quickly i am swept away to another location, I hear the sounds of a rain storm on a hot summer night and I wish i could stay. To ensure that nothing can interupt my moments of serenity i keep my eyes closed tight, for seeing my surroundings would take me away from my liquid fantasy. Everyday I am able to leave my world for awhile, forget about lifes day to day stresses and emerse myself in the delights of something so simple. I myself would never be one of the individuals who does not enjoy the simple things in life, for in these moments I am in heaven. That is until I run out of hot water.
Swing set
My dads house
the frront porch
my car
The shower
Where can you go to breathe?
Theres a place I know about where the world does not exsist. It is quiet, warm, and safe. This place can serve many purposes to different people, it can be taken for granted or just the opposite, be a blessing. For me this is my escape. Surrounded by three walls and a curtain I am
untouchable. When I am here my senses are at their highest levels. The aromas in the air mixed with the hot steam take me far away from the outside world. Sometimes I just close my eyes and stand there allowing my senses to run wild. I smell the carribbean and feel thousands of sensual pricks of heat all over my body. Then quickly i am swept away to another location, I hear the sounds of a rain storm on a hot summer night and I wish i could stay. To ensure that nothing can interupt my moments of serenity i keep my eyes closed tight, for seeing my surroundings would take me away from my liquid fantasy. Everyday I am able to leave my world for awhile, forget about lifes day to day stresses and emerse myself in the delights of something so simple. I myself would never be one of the individuals who does not enjoy the simple things in life, for in these moments I am in heaven. That is until I run out of hot water.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Blog 17, Essay 3
There is more to being sisters then blood.
Her laugh resembles mine, the way she speaks is just like me, and we both have the same smile. We share the need to wear our hearts on our sleeves; we speak our minds almost too much, and have blond moments just as often. We are smart, we are daddy’s girls, and share a bond that is unbreakable; we are sisters.
Several pictures a year are taken of the two of us together and they change drastically every time. There were pictures of us when she was little and I was looking at her with disgust, because now she was the baby and I was jealous, and as the years went on they changed again as we got closer. A picture can say so much about a person but it cannot tell you of their past. The picture above is us at my Aunt Beth and Brandy’s baby shower. We were sitting in two wooden chairs at the end of the dance floor watching them open their gifts. She was sitting a couple of inches in front of me because she was taking pictures to make them a scrap book. I remember looking at her, studying the way she moved, laughing because she placed her feet on the ground just like I did, even though she didn’t have the injury that cause me to do it. She held the pencil the same way as me, and when she stood up she wiggled her hips, as I always do because my pants never stay on. She was indeed my sister, there was no questioning it.
Yet I sit and wonder how it is that we are so alike? You see I do not live with my sister; she lives with my father and her mother. She is by definition my half sister, which means she shares half of my genetics. My dad is her dad, so in us we have his DNA; the only difference is that the other half of our makeup is from two different women. There is one difference we have. We also as I mentioned to not live together. When I was younger I lived there every other weekend and during the summers till I was about 14ish. My sister is five years younger than me so she was never going through the same changes I was. I also was a different person whenever I was at my dad’s house. My true colors and personality were only shown when I was here in Jersey. So how do two people who are not around each other very often become so much alike, I have no answer, but in my case we are spitting images of one another in looks and personality.
Blood whether it is half, full, none is not what makes us siblings. It is experiences, talks, hugs, fights, Christmas mornings, secrets, and a bond that no other individual could ever have with us. My sister is my best friend, not because she has to be, but because we chose to be. She called me about two months ago crying, falling apart, her and her boyfriend of two years broke up and she felt as though her world had ended. I talked to her for hours trying to calm her down, but even as I talked and gave advise I knew there was no hope in this helping right now. I knew this because I already went through this, and I knew that she handles situations that same way that I do; her heart was broken and nothing at that moment could make it feel any better. These phone calls continued all month, and every time she cried, I cried too. Not because I missed her boyfriend, but because a part of my, my sister, was hurting. They say that twins feel the others pain because they were connected in the womb, well she is five years younger, comes from a whole other uterus, and I can still feel her pain.
Sitting in my chair watching my sister at the party, realizing all the things that made us so similar, I decided I wanted to take a picture. I reached into my mess of a purse and looked around for my pink camera, which had silver marks all over it because of the chipped paint. I pulled it out, turned it on, and tapped my sister on the shoulder. When she turned around and saw the camera I did not even have to ask. She scooted her chair towards me and leaned up against my shoulder, this was our usual pose. Next she asked what she always does, “Funny or smiling?” ; just another part of our routine. I replied with smile nice, since I had been watching her I wanted to take a picture that shower how much she was like me. I look back at this picture and I am proud. Proud that she is my sister, happy she is a lot like me, and I like to think about how much she has become her own person since it was taken. There are many resemblances and shared characteristics between the two of us, but she is one in a million and adds her own little tweak to what we share. A picture can sometimes be deceiving leading you to believe there is love when there is not; this will never be the case with one of our pictures. Our smiles are always real and nothing about our relationship will ever be fake. I cannot wait to see down the road what our pictures begin to look like. No matter how they change though one thing will always remain the same, we are Sister by blood, and Best Friends by choice.
Her laugh resembles mine, the way she speaks is just like me, and we both have the same smile. We share the need to wear our hearts on our sleeves; we speak our minds almost too much, and have blond moments just as often. We are smart, we are daddy’s girls, and share a bond that is unbreakable; we are sisters.
Several pictures a year are taken of the two of us together and they change drastically every time. There were pictures of us when she was little and I was looking at her with disgust, because now she was the baby and I was jealous, and as the years went on they changed again as we got closer. A picture can say so much about a person but it cannot tell you of their past. The picture above is us at my Aunt Beth and Brandy’s baby shower. We were sitting in two wooden chairs at the end of the dance floor watching them open their gifts. She was sitting a couple of inches in front of me because she was taking pictures to make them a scrap book. I remember looking at her, studying the way she moved, laughing because she placed her feet on the ground just like I did, even though she didn’t have the injury that cause me to do it. She held the pencil the same way as me, and when she stood up she wiggled her hips, as I always do because my pants never stay on. She was indeed my sister, there was no questioning it.
Yet I sit and wonder how it is that we are so alike? You see I do not live with my sister; she lives with my father and her mother. She is by definition my half sister, which means she shares half of my genetics. My dad is her dad, so in us we have his DNA; the only difference is that the other half of our makeup is from two different women. There is one difference we have. We also as I mentioned to not live together. When I was younger I lived there every other weekend and during the summers till I was about 14ish. My sister is five years younger than me so she was never going through the same changes I was. I also was a different person whenever I was at my dad’s house. My true colors and personality were only shown when I was here in Jersey. So how do two people who are not around each other very often become so much alike, I have no answer, but in my case we are spitting images of one another in looks and personality.
Blood whether it is half, full, none is not what makes us siblings. It is experiences, talks, hugs, fights, Christmas mornings, secrets, and a bond that no other individual could ever have with us. My sister is my best friend, not because she has to be, but because we chose to be. She called me about two months ago crying, falling apart, her and her boyfriend of two years broke up and she felt as though her world had ended. I talked to her for hours trying to calm her down, but even as I talked and gave advise I knew there was no hope in this helping right now. I knew this because I already went through this, and I knew that she handles situations that same way that I do; her heart was broken and nothing at that moment could make it feel any better. These phone calls continued all month, and every time she cried, I cried too. Not because I missed her boyfriend, but because a part of my, my sister, was hurting. They say that twins feel the others pain because they were connected in the womb, well she is five years younger, comes from a whole other uterus, and I can still feel her pain.
Sitting in my chair watching my sister at the party, realizing all the things that made us so similar, I decided I wanted to take a picture. I reached into my mess of a purse and looked around for my pink camera, which had silver marks all over it because of the chipped paint. I pulled it out, turned it on, and tapped my sister on the shoulder. When she turned around and saw the camera I did not even have to ask. She scooted her chair towards me and leaned up against my shoulder, this was our usual pose. Next she asked what she always does, “Funny or smiling?” ; just another part of our routine. I replied with smile nice, since I had been watching her I wanted to take a picture that shower how much she was like me. I look back at this picture and I am proud. Proud that she is my sister, happy she is a lot like me, and I like to think about how much she has become her own person since it was taken. There are many resemblances and shared characteristics between the two of us, but she is one in a million and adds her own little tweak to what we share. A picture can sometimes be deceiving leading you to believe there is love when there is not; this will never be the case with one of our pictures. Our smiles are always real and nothing about our relationship will ever be fake. I cannot wait to see down the road what our pictures begin to look like. No matter how they change though one thing will always remain the same, we are Sister by blood, and Best Friends by choice.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Extra blog:
From talking with my group and the professor I am going to take the picture of my siblings and I, and write about what makes a family. It is not only blood that holds us together as brother and sister, because in my case I do not share " blood" with all four of them. Only two of them, and it is only half. My brothers and sisters are just that, they are not labeled as "step or half ".
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Blog 16
1. your proposed focus + the object, place, or person you will write about to develop that focus2. the specific descriptions or information you will present to develop your focus3. what each description shows about your focus4. a specific request for feedback
The object that I want to focus on is a picture of all of my siblings and I on vacation two years ago. It is very rare that the five of us are all together so having this picture in my room brings back lots and lots of memories that involve us all, some being good and some not. The focus that I am chosing to write about is siblings who have a different parent or parents are siblings no matter their title. Blood does not make us brothers and sisters.
First I plan on giving a decription of each of the five of us on the picture, connecting eachothers looks. Then connecting our feelings. From here I will talk about the picture and a few others moments in our lives that aided in getting is where we are today. If possible I would like to take a memory that i have shared with each of my siblings and after each memory come back to the picture of us all.
I would like to know if this is a good idea. I think my focus as usual is not complete and any feed back that may help me develope a strong focus would be great.
The object that I want to focus on is a picture of all of my siblings and I on vacation two years ago. It is very rare that the five of us are all together so having this picture in my room brings back lots and lots of memories that involve us all, some being good and some not. The focus that I am chosing to write about is siblings who have a different parent or parents are siblings no matter their title. Blood does not make us brothers and sisters.
First I plan on giving a decription of each of the five of us on the picture, connecting eachothers looks. Then connecting our feelings. From here I will talk about the picture and a few others moments in our lives that aided in getting is where we are today. If possible I would like to take a memory that i have shared with each of my siblings and after each memory come back to the picture of us all.
I would like to know if this is a good idea. I think my focus as usual is not complete and any feed back that may help me develope a strong focus would be great.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Final essay number one
Villain and Superhero in one...
Strong, Brave, Smart, Independent, Thoughtful, and Wise beyond her years are just a few of the qualities that represent the woman who is my mother. Absent, Jealous, Intentions of being there, Busy, and clueless to what is going on, are qualities that represent the parent who is my mother. How can one woman possess these very different characteristics and be the same person?
Christmas time last year Grandpa was in the hospital due to needing a five bypass surgery on his heart. He is a 78 year old man with a history of cancer, infections, diabetes, and whatever else you face at his age. Things did not look very good. The whole family was a mess, including me. My aunt, who had not been home in three years to see the family since she moved away, flew home. My uncle who lives in California came back to Jersey, and most of my grandfather’s girlfriend’s family was all there. No one was sure what the outcome was going to be for this is a serious surgery for anyone, specially an old man. Amongst all the insanity there was a breath of fresh air. One person who kept everyone calm, who gathered all of the people close and spoke the them giving assurance that in the end all would be ok, just as Moses did for the Israelites. She was our savior, and this woman was my mother. She was worried and hurting too, but put that aside to care for everyone else. She knew that there needed to be someone that was holding us all together, and without hesitation she stood up and took the job. There were nights that I heard her crying when she thought no one was around, but how could she not. Everyone needs time to breathe and let out emotion, even the heroines like her.
My mother the heroine, she was the one person in the family who always had her suit of armor on underneath her dress. Being the oldest she was the protector of the Tooley’s, seeing what no one else could, keeping the clan safe and sheltered. Although she was not always thanked for her work, or told she did a job well done, recognition is not what she seeked. It was seeing her family together, and making it through another obstacle in one piece. This is the woman who I envy and find myself taking after.
Then there is the parent who I strive to be as different as possible from, the parent who never seemed to have time for me, and never could tell just how much I was hurting. Junior year of high school I went from being 127 pounds to weighing 110 pounds in a matter of two months. My bones were popping out, I could not sleep, when I did eat, my body was in such need of nutrients I put on no weight, and I spent almost every night crying myself to sleep. This was my life. There was no way you could ignore the changes that had occurred within me, specially being my mother how could one not notice? Well she noticed alright, this parent of mine, and she made an effort to try and find out what was wrong, but after I shut her out after a few tries she backed off. SHE BACKED OFF! I was 16 years old, going through a horrible break-up, losing my mind by the minute and she just let me be. Where was her suit of armor now? Why did she not use her super strength and knock down my walls, no matter how many obstacles she had to cross, wasn’t I worth saving? Her daughter, her so called life, and I was left to fight my own battle, a battle I am still fighting today.
I was left to fight alone, while superwoman was off saving others. A group of men who were sexually abused when they were younger had formed an online group, looking for a bright light of strength to help them. She was there and spent hours a day with these men. Listening, giving advice, and being exactly what they needed. Headline: Men Beaten, Battered, and Destroyed Saved by an Everyday Woman Looking to Help. If recognition was given that would have been the title of an article. I would come home from school, work, or just being out and she would either be on the computer e-mailing these men back and forth, or on the phone strategizing how to save someone who went a-wall. Most people forget about men who were raped and emotionally hurt, but not this woman. She reached out and made a difference for these men, and saved a handful of lives. It takes one hell of a woman to talk a person out of committing suicide. I can only hope to possess the compassion and strength that she has.
This site that my parent was a part of needed her, but so did I. Freshmen year of college something happened to me that caused me to relapse back into my depression. Someone hurt me, took my trust, threw it on the ground and spit on it; leaving me with a broken heart and a nasty souvenir. While I tried to fight back, I lost, and my grades had to pay the price. So I headed home in May with my head sulking and heart hurting. My parent, thought that I was partying too much and was not able to handle college life, so she grounded me for the whole summer. I was too weak to even argue at the time, but where was her compassion then? Why could she listen to these men with all their problems and care for them so, but when her daughter needed her, she turned the other cheek and sat down at her desk to write an e-mail. This e-mail was to one of the men that she had been helping, she was looking for some advice, so she turned to him. The rule in my house with the computer was, you leave it up its fair game, and I wish she never left this up. Dear X, I fear that I have spoiled my daughter. She is so selfish and ungrateful. I have given her all the things she has wanted and doing poorly in school is how she repays me. I have always been so nice about things, I think this time I am going to have to put my foot down and punish her. This is of course is not word for word what she said, but it was something along these lines. I was selfish; she gave me everything I wanted, I would have taken having the woman that she is as my parent, over any material item. I was tempted to write another e-mail for both them to read, explaining what had happened and really giving it to him and her, but it was not worth it.
How is it that you can be so proud and so angry at the same person? How can you want to scream, yell and cry at a parent, and give an award for the woman that she is? What do you do when you look at a person and smile and as you give them a hug, a fire begins to burn inside of you and you have to pull away? As I get older I possess more and more qualities of the heroine, adding my own little tweak to the way I handle things. I am or like to think I am the Superhero of the Quinn’s. I strive to help those who need me, to be there for family, and to make people smile whenever possible. I hope to be even more successful then my mother, but to learn from her all that I can. She has endured a lot in her life, and is a magnificently tough individual, being like her, would be an honor.
I have not yet reached the part of my life where I am to be a parent, someone who has a life in their hands and is 100% responsible for the well being of that person. When this day comes, I do not want to be like the parent that I have. To even type these words is painful, because although I know my parent loves me, she messed up. She needed to be there, being my protector, savior, and mother. My shoulder to cry on, my person to turn to, the one who was always on my side, the one who was ALWAYS there, the one who saw through my walls, and the one who no matter how hard things were, never gave up. I wanted her and I needed her, in fact I still do. So what do you do when your mother and parent are the same person? How do you tell the two apart? Heroine and Villain become one person, except I am the only one without the rose colored glasses, so I alone can see both. Looking at her looking in the mirror I see a working woman who could save the world, and then the reflection of a broken parent who knows nothing of her mistakes. While I may be angry and hurt at my parent; and proud and envious of my mother, the truth is I love them both. When it comes to love these two people become one, but love is not always enough.
Strong, Brave, Smart, Independent, Thoughtful, and Wise beyond her years are just a few of the qualities that represent the woman who is my mother. Absent, Jealous, Intentions of being there, Busy, and clueless to what is going on, are qualities that represent the parent who is my mother. How can one woman possess these very different characteristics and be the same person?
Christmas time last year Grandpa was in the hospital due to needing a five bypass surgery on his heart. He is a 78 year old man with a history of cancer, infections, diabetes, and whatever else you face at his age. Things did not look very good. The whole family was a mess, including me. My aunt, who had not been home in three years to see the family since she moved away, flew home. My uncle who lives in California came back to Jersey, and most of my grandfather’s girlfriend’s family was all there. No one was sure what the outcome was going to be for this is a serious surgery for anyone, specially an old man. Amongst all the insanity there was a breath of fresh air. One person who kept everyone calm, who gathered all of the people close and spoke the them giving assurance that in the end all would be ok, just as Moses did for the Israelites. She was our savior, and this woman was my mother. She was worried and hurting too, but put that aside to care for everyone else. She knew that there needed to be someone that was holding us all together, and without hesitation she stood up and took the job. There were nights that I heard her crying when she thought no one was around, but how could she not. Everyone needs time to breathe and let out emotion, even the heroines like her.
My mother the heroine, she was the one person in the family who always had her suit of armor on underneath her dress. Being the oldest she was the protector of the Tooley’s, seeing what no one else could, keeping the clan safe and sheltered. Although she was not always thanked for her work, or told she did a job well done, recognition is not what she seeked. It was seeing her family together, and making it through another obstacle in one piece. This is the woman who I envy and find myself taking after.
Then there is the parent who I strive to be as different as possible from, the parent who never seemed to have time for me, and never could tell just how much I was hurting. Junior year of high school I went from being 127 pounds to weighing 110 pounds in a matter of two months. My bones were popping out, I could not sleep, when I did eat, my body was in such need of nutrients I put on no weight, and I spent almost every night crying myself to sleep. This was my life. There was no way you could ignore the changes that had occurred within me, specially being my mother how could one not notice? Well she noticed alright, this parent of mine, and she made an effort to try and find out what was wrong, but after I shut her out after a few tries she backed off. SHE BACKED OFF! I was 16 years old, going through a horrible break-up, losing my mind by the minute and she just let me be. Where was her suit of armor now? Why did she not use her super strength and knock down my walls, no matter how many obstacles she had to cross, wasn’t I worth saving? Her daughter, her so called life, and I was left to fight my own battle, a battle I am still fighting today.
I was left to fight alone, while superwoman was off saving others. A group of men who were sexually abused when they were younger had formed an online group, looking for a bright light of strength to help them. She was there and spent hours a day with these men. Listening, giving advice, and being exactly what they needed. Headline: Men Beaten, Battered, and Destroyed Saved by an Everyday Woman Looking to Help. If recognition was given that would have been the title of an article. I would come home from school, work, or just being out and she would either be on the computer e-mailing these men back and forth, or on the phone strategizing how to save someone who went a-wall. Most people forget about men who were raped and emotionally hurt, but not this woman. She reached out and made a difference for these men, and saved a handful of lives. It takes one hell of a woman to talk a person out of committing suicide. I can only hope to possess the compassion and strength that she has.
This site that my parent was a part of needed her, but so did I. Freshmen year of college something happened to me that caused me to relapse back into my depression. Someone hurt me, took my trust, threw it on the ground and spit on it; leaving me with a broken heart and a nasty souvenir. While I tried to fight back, I lost, and my grades had to pay the price. So I headed home in May with my head sulking and heart hurting. My parent, thought that I was partying too much and was not able to handle college life, so she grounded me for the whole summer. I was too weak to even argue at the time, but where was her compassion then? Why could she listen to these men with all their problems and care for them so, but when her daughter needed her, she turned the other cheek and sat down at her desk to write an e-mail. This e-mail was to one of the men that she had been helping, she was looking for some advice, so she turned to him. The rule in my house with the computer was, you leave it up its fair game, and I wish she never left this up. Dear X, I fear that I have spoiled my daughter. She is so selfish and ungrateful. I have given her all the things she has wanted and doing poorly in school is how she repays me. I have always been so nice about things, I think this time I am going to have to put my foot down and punish her. This is of course is not word for word what she said, but it was something along these lines. I was selfish; she gave me everything I wanted, I would have taken having the woman that she is as my parent, over any material item. I was tempted to write another e-mail for both them to read, explaining what had happened and really giving it to him and her, but it was not worth it.
How is it that you can be so proud and so angry at the same person? How can you want to scream, yell and cry at a parent, and give an award for the woman that she is? What do you do when you look at a person and smile and as you give them a hug, a fire begins to burn inside of you and you have to pull away? As I get older I possess more and more qualities of the heroine, adding my own little tweak to the way I handle things. I am or like to think I am the Superhero of the Quinn’s. I strive to help those who need me, to be there for family, and to make people smile whenever possible. I hope to be even more successful then my mother, but to learn from her all that I can. She has endured a lot in her life, and is a magnificently tough individual, being like her, would be an honor.
I have not yet reached the part of my life where I am to be a parent, someone who has a life in their hands and is 100% responsible for the well being of that person. When this day comes, I do not want to be like the parent that I have. To even type these words is painful, because although I know my parent loves me, she messed up. She needed to be there, being my protector, savior, and mother. My shoulder to cry on, my person to turn to, the one who was always on my side, the one who was ALWAYS there, the one who saw through my walls, and the one who no matter how hard things were, never gave up. I wanted her and I needed her, in fact I still do. So what do you do when your mother and parent are the same person? How do you tell the two apart? Heroine and Villain become one person, except I am the only one without the rose colored glasses, so I alone can see both. Looking at her looking in the mirror I see a working woman who could save the world, and then the reflection of a broken parent who knows nothing of her mistakes. While I may be angry and hurt at my parent; and proud and envious of my mother, the truth is I love them both. When it comes to love these two people become one, but love is not always enough.
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