As the seasons change I can't help but to notice the difference in the attitudes of students.
Interesting.
Kimmy
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Family
What is family?
Is it the Adam's Family? Full of odd mismatching people that still work together?
Is it the Brady Bunch? Joyful and with constant joys and happy episodes that lead to another happy ending?
Is it the family from the movie Marley and Me? Joyous with sorrow and moments of laughter?
Or is family what you see on the news?
Headlines:
"Mother commits suicide after killing husband and child."
"Child murdered by parents and left in isolation."
"Spears and Timberlake divorce, issues over custody for children."
So yet again I ask you, what is family?
As the days go by I come to wonder if every other family out there is like my own:
Happy in the face of the public but secretly dysfunctional and without order, constantly fighting to keep the thin-tight little strands of whatever keeps us together, there.
What is family?
Every day I find that my family struggles to be together, and if we're not struggling to be together, we struggle to stay together and be happy. I look back into history and find that there is seldom a day that our family has been truly happy and without conflict. Thinking about how without hope my family is makes me sad; it crushes any signs or sparks of hope that once resided within me. Now, I live on in my family for three reasons:
1. My mother; despite the fact that she's been ill for quite some time, she struggles every day and battles against her health and all forces of nature to keep my family functioning and together.
2. My little brother; he covers himself over with a skin of "macho" greatness, but inside I know he is just as scared as I am. He doesn't have to say it, but I know that even when it seems he is thickskulled and blunt, that he thinks much deeper with maturity beyond his meager fifteen years of age.
3. My father; I come to blame him a lot for the wrong that happens in my family, but I know he is trying to be better. My father comes from a dysfunctional yet functional family of his own. In his childhood, his father, my grandfather, constantly beat my grandmother and father. My brother's six sisters were left untouched but emotionally scarred by what they saw. My grandmother thought that this was the last straw, requesting help from her sister-in-law, my great aunt and my grandfather's sister. With time she was able to move all seven of her children and herself to Missouri where my great aunt cared for the family of eight with the help of her husband. This might seem odd, "His sister helped his wife and kids runaway from him?!" It is weird, and its not something you see everyday, but my great aunt saw that it was her responsibility to clean up after her brother. And its funny because, my grandfather, he also came from a dysfunctional family.
When my grandfather was young, his parents died leaving him and about five other siblings to fend for themselves. Being the youngest, his siblings worked to keep him healthy and afloat. They did their best, but being kids themselves it was inevitable that there was some damage done to both parties. My grandfather's brothers were abusive and temper mental so my grandfather decided it was time to fend for himself a little more. He grew into a rebellious short tempered young man. He had to teach himself the traits of life and along the way he faced much hardship.
After this one comes to think, "I guess there's a lot more than meets the eye." You can't help but to sympathize with the families, my grandfather's family, and my father's family, and then at an extension, my family.
These feelings of sympathy though, weren't instilled into my heart until this year though. Before, I used to blame my grandfather's family and my grandfather for the way my father was. Now, don't get me wrong, my father is an excellent father. He treats my family well and does his best to make up for the negative traits we see in him every day. He takes us places, he feeds us things, he shows us things, and he does his best to make sure we live a life of comfort and peace. But, he, like his father, is short tempered and the military gave him a sharp tongue and work ethic that shaped his already intimidating persona into something even scarier. He became a father of steel; my brother and I were raised in an almost military style, my father restricted us from many things. He has strong views that kept us from engaging with some people, from joining some activities, and even from being with some of our friends. With my father, its even hard to express our feelings because even the slightest wrong remark led to a lecture and screaming and shouting that eventually led to tears.
So throughout the years my brother and I trained ourselves to be somewhat favorable students and children. We did our best to hold our tongues at home, but this didn't do much for our lives outside of home. For myself, I know that I grew a temper, what I stored up at home in anger and other unhealthy emotions I spewed out at the people with whom I interacted every day. I became known for my short temper and sharp tongue, something my father is well known for. Everyone knew me as a girl who got the job done but was harsh and strict with her every move.
My brother on the other hand, a little more rebellious and outspoken then myself, became a radical figure almost. He befriended people in his own grade and they grew up, but as they grew up his friends went into the realm of smoking and drinking. Thankfully, as far as I know, my brother has been good about not smoking and he doesn't like drinking. Still, his friends didn't do much to help his growing emotions of hurt, anger, and sorrow. In school, he became too involved in doing the things that he couldn't do at home, such as playing games or just having fun like most kids. So, to make up for the things he lost, my brother came to do them outside of home. He was a constant "knuckle-head" as some people labeled him, and to others he was a class clown. But when my mother and I saw him, we wanted him to stop, but part of us felt bad. While I was somewhat more malleable to my father's will and didn't disobey him, and so I just let certain aspects of my childhood just flyaway, my brother was still young and my mother and I wanted him to have that part of his childhood. My mother tried her best to help me when I was young and growing up, but you can only do so much.
So, through me, she helped my brother, hoping that he wouldn't grow up to be the same scarred girl that I had grown into. She wanted him to be, "more like a kid and less like an adult," and I wanted that too. We gave him a lot of freedom and thought that was enough but it became apparent that it wasn't. He was acting up in school trying to replenish the meter of "Lost Childhood Memories". And like I said before, even though my mother and I wanted him to do good academically and have a good reputation, we couldn't blame him or force him to stop being a kid... It just wasn't fair that he would have to suffer what I did. So we did our best to make sure he didn't go all wrong. Slowly his grades improved and he set himself straight, but that didn't stop him from being as rebellious as ever.
We found out that he was still a big "stir-it-up" figure in school. He and his friends did everything and anything they felt like doing. His grades were acceptable but he could do better. As time passed we thought it might be hopeless, but I guess he opened his eyes a little more on his own. He was able to straighten up and now he's doing good. He still has a temper like none other and he still does some things that he shouldn't do, but he is doing good academically and he has a strong social life. He's healthy and he's good with others, so what more could I ask for?
But, that's just the half of it.
My family, we're not as happy-go-lucky as we seem. In front of the eye of the public we were one of the most ideal families; father with a good job and steady income, mother beautiful and seemingly happy as ever, son strong athlete and okay student, and daughter good academic standing with a passion for music and strong with responsibility. But that's just the mask I mentioned before, in reality all is different.
My father, strong, short tempered man with words to match his temper; my mother, ill and growing aged, weary of everything and struggling to keep the family together; my brother, short tempered, outspoken strong, acts on instinct and sometimes without thought; and myself, short tempered, sharp tongued, weary of everything, lies to keep people unaware of who I really am, and without a true identity.
Some of you might think, Okay, so what? Like that makes a difference? What you don't know is that all of that really does. Here's the sequence of a lot of our arguments:
1. I do something I'm not supposed to do, as of late, the issue is I stay up later than the lights-out time of 11 o'clock set by my father, because I'm doing homework or just messing around.
2. Mother comes to tell me to get off and hurry to bed like my brother.
3a. I yell at her and we get into an argument.
3b. I ignore her and let time roll on by until my father comes and notices.
4a. My father comes to ask why we're fighting and gets mad at me for being bad to my mother.
4b. My father comes and yells at me for having poor time management.
5. Mother tries to intervene and issue blows up, everyone is screaming, brother stays in his room.
6. Next day father/mother/me are all in bad mood, brother is crabby because he's tired.
7. Come home, something sparks an argument, normally its something small like I have to do something and I forget and don't.
8. Father gets pissed yells at me and storms off into his room.
9. Brother finishes work so he plays 10 minutes of game and father gets mad and tells him to go play piano.
10. Father brings up how irresponsible my brother and I are.
11. Brother grows angry and blows up, brings up issues from past.
12. Everything goes to hell.
And the basic structure is usually the same. But it always lead back to me... Me, myself, and I... I seem to always be the issue. My parents tell me I am the anchor of this family, but from where I see things, I'm also the iceberg that sinks the ship. No matter how I look at it, this like this are ALWAYS my fault. Almost every conflict we've had in this house always leads back to something I did wrong or just something I did in general.
So yet again, I ask you as a closing question, something to keep your mind jogging:
What is family?
The Asian Teen,
Kimmy
Is it the Adam's Family? Full of odd mismatching people that still work together?
Is it the Brady Bunch? Joyful and with constant joys and happy episodes that lead to another happy ending?
Is it the family from the movie Marley and Me? Joyous with sorrow and moments of laughter?
Or is family what you see on the news?
Headlines:
"Mother commits suicide after killing husband and child."
"Child murdered by parents and left in isolation."
"Spears and Timberlake divorce, issues over custody for children."
So yet again I ask you, what is family?
As the days go by I come to wonder if every other family out there is like my own:
Happy in the face of the public but secretly dysfunctional and without order, constantly fighting to keep the thin-tight little strands of whatever keeps us together, there.
What is family?
Every day I find that my family struggles to be together, and if we're not struggling to be together, we struggle to stay together and be happy. I look back into history and find that there is seldom a day that our family has been truly happy and without conflict. Thinking about how without hope my family is makes me sad; it crushes any signs or sparks of hope that once resided within me. Now, I live on in my family for three reasons:
1. My mother; despite the fact that she's been ill for quite some time, she struggles every day and battles against her health and all forces of nature to keep my family functioning and together.
2. My little brother; he covers himself over with a skin of "macho" greatness, but inside I know he is just as scared as I am. He doesn't have to say it, but I know that even when it seems he is thickskulled and blunt, that he thinks much deeper with maturity beyond his meager fifteen years of age.
3. My father; I come to blame him a lot for the wrong that happens in my family, but I know he is trying to be better. My father comes from a dysfunctional yet functional family of his own. In his childhood, his father, my grandfather, constantly beat my grandmother and father. My brother's six sisters were left untouched but emotionally scarred by what they saw. My grandmother thought that this was the last straw, requesting help from her sister-in-law, my great aunt and my grandfather's sister. With time she was able to move all seven of her children and herself to Missouri where my great aunt cared for the family of eight with the help of her husband. This might seem odd, "His sister helped his wife and kids runaway from him?!" It is weird, and its not something you see everyday, but my great aunt saw that it was her responsibility to clean up after her brother. And its funny because, my grandfather, he also came from a dysfunctional family.
When my grandfather was young, his parents died leaving him and about five other siblings to fend for themselves. Being the youngest, his siblings worked to keep him healthy and afloat. They did their best, but being kids themselves it was inevitable that there was some damage done to both parties. My grandfather's brothers were abusive and temper mental so my grandfather decided it was time to fend for himself a little more. He grew into a rebellious short tempered young man. He had to teach himself the traits of life and along the way he faced much hardship.
After this one comes to think, "I guess there's a lot more than meets the eye." You can't help but to sympathize with the families, my grandfather's family, and my father's family, and then at an extension, my family.
These feelings of sympathy though, weren't instilled into my heart until this year though. Before, I used to blame my grandfather's family and my grandfather for the way my father was. Now, don't get me wrong, my father is an excellent father. He treats my family well and does his best to make up for the negative traits we see in him every day. He takes us places, he feeds us things, he shows us things, and he does his best to make sure we live a life of comfort and peace. But, he, like his father, is short tempered and the military gave him a sharp tongue and work ethic that shaped his already intimidating persona into something even scarier. He became a father of steel; my brother and I were raised in an almost military style, my father restricted us from many things. He has strong views that kept us from engaging with some people, from joining some activities, and even from being with some of our friends. With my father, its even hard to express our feelings because even the slightest wrong remark led to a lecture and screaming and shouting that eventually led to tears.
So throughout the years my brother and I trained ourselves to be somewhat favorable students and children. We did our best to hold our tongues at home, but this didn't do much for our lives outside of home. For myself, I know that I grew a temper, what I stored up at home in anger and other unhealthy emotions I spewed out at the people with whom I interacted every day. I became known for my short temper and sharp tongue, something my father is well known for. Everyone knew me as a girl who got the job done but was harsh and strict with her every move.
My brother on the other hand, a little more rebellious and outspoken then myself, became a radical figure almost. He befriended people in his own grade and they grew up, but as they grew up his friends went into the realm of smoking and drinking. Thankfully, as far as I know, my brother has been good about not smoking and he doesn't like drinking. Still, his friends didn't do much to help his growing emotions of hurt, anger, and sorrow. In school, he became too involved in doing the things that he couldn't do at home, such as playing games or just having fun like most kids. So, to make up for the things he lost, my brother came to do them outside of home. He was a constant "knuckle-head" as some people labeled him, and to others he was a class clown. But when my mother and I saw him, we wanted him to stop, but part of us felt bad. While I was somewhat more malleable to my father's will and didn't disobey him, and so I just let certain aspects of my childhood just flyaway, my brother was still young and my mother and I wanted him to have that part of his childhood. My mother tried her best to help me when I was young and growing up, but you can only do so much.
So, through me, she helped my brother, hoping that he wouldn't grow up to be the same scarred girl that I had grown into. She wanted him to be, "more like a kid and less like an adult," and I wanted that too. We gave him a lot of freedom and thought that was enough but it became apparent that it wasn't. He was acting up in school trying to replenish the meter of "Lost Childhood Memories". And like I said before, even though my mother and I wanted him to do good academically and have a good reputation, we couldn't blame him or force him to stop being a kid... It just wasn't fair that he would have to suffer what I did. So we did our best to make sure he didn't go all wrong. Slowly his grades improved and he set himself straight, but that didn't stop him from being as rebellious as ever.
We found out that he was still a big "stir-it-up" figure in school. He and his friends did everything and anything they felt like doing. His grades were acceptable but he could do better. As time passed we thought it might be hopeless, but I guess he opened his eyes a little more on his own. He was able to straighten up and now he's doing good. He still has a temper like none other and he still does some things that he shouldn't do, but he is doing good academically and he has a strong social life. He's healthy and he's good with others, so what more could I ask for?
But, that's just the half of it.
My family, we're not as happy-go-lucky as we seem. In front of the eye of the public we were one of the most ideal families; father with a good job and steady income, mother beautiful and seemingly happy as ever, son strong athlete and okay student, and daughter good academic standing with a passion for music and strong with responsibility. But that's just the mask I mentioned before, in reality all is different.
My father, strong, short tempered man with words to match his temper; my mother, ill and growing aged, weary of everything and struggling to keep the family together; my brother, short tempered, outspoken strong, acts on instinct and sometimes without thought; and myself, short tempered, sharp tongued, weary of everything, lies to keep people unaware of who I really am, and without a true identity.
Some of you might think, Okay, so what? Like that makes a difference? What you don't know is that all of that really does. Here's the sequence of a lot of our arguments:
1. I do something I'm not supposed to do, as of late, the issue is I stay up later than the lights-out time of 11 o'clock set by my father, because I'm doing homework or just messing around.
2. Mother comes to tell me to get off and hurry to bed like my brother.
3a. I yell at her and we get into an argument.
3b. I ignore her and let time roll on by until my father comes and notices.
4a. My father comes to ask why we're fighting and gets mad at me for being bad to my mother.
4b. My father comes and yells at me for having poor time management.
5. Mother tries to intervene and issue blows up, everyone is screaming, brother stays in his room.
6. Next day father/mother/me are all in bad mood, brother is crabby because he's tired.
7. Come home, something sparks an argument, normally its something small like I have to do something and I forget and don't.
8. Father gets pissed yells at me and storms off into his room.
9. Brother finishes work so he plays 10 minutes of game and father gets mad and tells him to go play piano.
10. Father brings up how irresponsible my brother and I are.
11. Brother grows angry and blows up, brings up issues from past.
12. Everything goes to hell.
And the basic structure is usually the same. But it always lead back to me... Me, myself, and I... I seem to always be the issue. My parents tell me I am the anchor of this family, but from where I see things, I'm also the iceberg that sinks the ship. No matter how I look at it, this like this are ALWAYS my fault. Almost every conflict we've had in this house always leads back to something I did wrong or just something I did in general.
So yet again, I ask you as a closing question, something to keep your mind jogging:
What is family?
The Asian Teen,
Kimmy
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