I’m able to resonate with a plethora of things, yet the thing I consider my identity is I’m an adopted, Haitian immigrant. I was born in Haiti in 1998, in a small village in Thomazeau, I moved to Croix-des- Bouquets right after my birth and I lived there until I was 9 years old. My family's financial situation was adequate. My mom was always able to find a way to make ends meet. This cause our neighbor to be envious of us. Therefore, we became constant targets of threats of being kidnapped or poisoned. A close family saw what was happening and decided to adopt me when I was 4 years old, and he became my dad. He was generous enough to let me stay with my biological parents after the adoption because he did not want me to get lonely. When …show more content…
I’m extremely grateful that my dad adopted me and gave me a better life! Yet, I can’t help feel like I’ve missed out on a relationship between my biological parents. Up until 9, I was extremely close to my biological father, most of my time my mom was always working, inevitably I was closer to my biological father than my mom. When I came to America, my adopted dad was a workaholic like my mother. I only got to spend time with him on Sundays. From age 9-14, I spent most of my time with a babysitter. When I was old enough, I stayed home by myself. I grew lonely, and during those times was when I missed my biological parents. Though I love my dad with all my heart, we never established the bond that I had with my biological dad. My biological father, unfortunately, passed away May of this year. I blamed myself for his death, even though I know it had nothing to do with me. I wish I had a chance to tell him that I loved him and that I truly appreciate the sacrifice of giving me up so that I can have a better opportunity in life. I also feel guilty because I don’t want my adoptive dad to see me in distress since he’s the one that’s been raising me for the last 9 years. Being adopted is one of the reasons I have to be successful in life. I want to make both of families proud. I also want to pass on the love from my family by adopting a child in the near
When I was growing up, I barely ever got to see my father and brother. Lily grew up without her mother. When I was around 1 years old, my mother and father got divorced. My mother took me with her and my father kept my brother and sister. My mother told me, that my father was abusive told her and my brother and sister.
I’m his only child. My father really wasn’t there for me. My sperm donor thought sending me 20 dollars every two weeks is taking care of me. He always been a family man but to his wife. When I was 8, my father got married and continued on with his little family.
This autobiographical essay will define my experience as a Dominican immigrant living in New York City. Being an American citizen with a Dominican background are extremely relevant to the process of political socialization. My family background is founded on the principles of democratic values, which taught to me by my mother and father. In New York City, I found a “melting pot” of different immigrants that allowed me to feel more accepted as a Dominican living in the United States. More so, these aspects of the socialization process provided a foundation for my belief in democratic values throughout my life.
I told myself that I wasn’t going to allow the absence of my father prevent me from getting father in life. Many always thought that I was just this angry little girl, but they never sat down and asked me why I felt so angry inside. Not having that male role model in a child’s life can lead them down the road to destruction. The strength that I have gained was to take the pain and use it as a lesson in life. I’ve came to reality that his actions did not have to direct
What is a leader?” John Quincy Adams once declared “If your actions inspire others to dream more, learn more, do more and become more, you are a leader.” If I never expressed my story to others. No one would know how much I have achieved in the past 17 years. I grew up in a Haitian-American household, with my mother, and my three younger siblings.
There was not much to do as I grew up in Haiti. I would sit outside for hours until the sun would set, the darkness consuming the little light that once remained. I didn’t know anything besides my house; my mom believed that our safety simply lay inside the house and anything outside was dangerous. Growing up, I didn’t have my father around because he came to the United States in order to provide for his family back home. At the age of seven both my immigration papers and my sister's were finalized, and we were able to finally be with our father.
At the young age of 10, I experienced this; becoming a fatherless child. Just 22 days before my 11th birthday my father was sentenced to 8 years in the Federal penitentiary. I become a “Fatherless” child. Entering middle school this was a tough adjustment. As I matriculated through middle school, I found myself suspended and trying to fill a hole in my soul to replace my father.
Growing up in an immigrant household in America, was difficult. I didn’t live, I learned to adapt. I learned to adapt to the fact that I did not look like any of my peers, so I changed. Adapted to the fact that my hair texture would never be like any of my peers, so I changed. Adapted to the fact that I was not as financially well off as my peers, so I changed.
After the cops showed up at my grandmas’ house, my mom kinda had custody of us. It was only a couple of months that we could stay with her though because getting to school was hard and she still didn’t have a job. After those couple of months passed, she had to tell me something. We were walking home from school and we sat down at the park and talked. She said, “You and your sister will have to go to foster care, but we made sure that you knew your guardian.
As a teenager moving to a new country with a different culture, different language, and being thousands of miles away from everyone I grew up with was not an easy change, however, that was precisely what I did in January of 2013 when I came to the United States with my father. My whole world changed since, and shaped my way of thinking. From learning English, adjusting to a new culture, experiencing my first snow and finding my way in my new country, my life has been an exciting adventure. My parents brought me to America almost 5 years ago to have a better life, and to get a better education.
In 2009, the U.S. Census gathered that there were over thirty-three million second-generation immigrants living in America. America is a melting pot, and in this melting pot, it isn’t uncommon for these children, myself included, to lose sight of what our lives could be–and the struggles that our parents faced to ensure that we have more opportunities than they had. As I write this essay, I’m stressing over the things any other American high school sophomore faces– grades, social drama and statuses, and my follower count on Twitter and Instagram. These “problems,” if even that, are minute to what others our age face around the world.
My mother is an immigrant. A hardworking, pious woman who moved to a foreign country in order to raise her children and offer them everything she could. After her first three children, my mother grew accustomed to her feeling of loneliness. She was often left alone with three young children, dealing with their constant bickering and nagging. On top of that she had limited communication with others, due to a language barrier, no car and no friends in this new world.
Coming from a low income family, living in a small town in India, I learned early on about struggling and surviving those struggles. I watched my parents working day and night to provide for electricity, pay for our monthly school fees so my sister and I can have a better education, and for the future they wished upon for their children. To further enhance this vision, my father decided for the family and I to immigrate to the US. Everything was different in the sense that I changed schools, learned a new language, had to make new friends, and learned the different culture. I had to adapt to a whole new world, which was a little difficult at 6 years old
and I used to play with my dad and these two were familiar faces to me in the initial stages and I developed a trust on them, The important thing I felt in this stage was feeding and my parent’s care. As we were in a joint family I always stayed with my parents and never allowed my uncle or aunt to lift me, when they tried to do so I used to switch on my alarm that is my cry, it forced my mom to run all the way from the kitchen to take care of me.
Growing up without my father was hard, especially because my mom was only there to feed, clothe and raise 5 kids including me. At 7 years old my father got 9 years in prison. I still remember the day as if it was yesterday. Approximately at 7 p.m., I saw a lot of police officers outside my house, I thought what is happening! Occasionally I kept peeking out the window to see what was happening.