I live with a family of 9 children, so it's hardly considerable to imagine how hard it is to be heard around home. I'm one of the younger children and along with my twin, we haven't got very many priviledges. The older ones are off to college now, and soon are we. Only, there's a slite difference in the way we are living our senior year, and how the other 5 lived theirs.
Hi. My name is Julia Acevedo, and from my last name it's quite obvious that I am a hispanic female. My father, Francisco Acevedo, came from a family of 11 children and my mother, Emilia Acevedo, came from a family of 13. Now, this story seems to go on with the family tree, but know that the story begins now. My father is a very righteous man, as many fathers are. He has been my shelter, my refuge, my strength. It is in him that I am able to move along as days go by. However, I feel as though there isn't a way that I can please him.
When I was younger, I was a very outgoing child. I didn't have to be with my mother to be happy. I loved my father as much as I had loved her. I always wanted to have the chance to make my father really proud. I loved to see him smile, laugh, and never did I like to see him upset.
The image that first comes to my mind of disappointment would be when I was on the phone late at night, talking to a "boyfriend" at the age of 14. My father was really upset and I cried my tears out thinking I would never see the guy I "loved" ever again. I yelled something at my father that I will never forget, as I'm sure he won't either. My father asked what I thought, why I was on the phone so late, was he wrong to think it a bad thing? I tried to turn and leave, but my mother stopped me. She told me to respond to my father's question. I looked at him, and snapped, 'How am I suppose to know what is right and what is wrong? You are never home to tell me. You can't even go to church with us!' I sat on the couch, realizing the words I said and cried as I looked down, ashamed for being so foolish in saying what I had. I had to leave. I couldn't stay and face my father, so I ran to my room and forced myself to sleep so that I would not have to talk him. I simply wanted to be left alone.
I apologized to my father the next morning by making him breakfast and repeating over and over how much he meant to me. My father forgave me, but I'm not sure that I can say that he will every forget what I had said to him. My father didn't chosen to raise a sad family, his intentions were to bring about a family with the items they needed. My father knew that he had a duty as soon as he bent his knee to my mother 27 years ago. It was simply that a young child can only hope to spend all of their time with a father and hope to someday bring so much happiness that he may love his child all over again.
I have been blessed to being qualified in regionals for track, and I can only hope that I am able to make it to state to make him proud. For it is only when I do good in some sport that I can grasp my father's attention. It is only then that my father and I are not under a different sky.
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