After sixteen years of careful contemplation, I have unquestionably concocted the recipe for a perfect family. Although the intentions were always sincere, I entered the world with an extremely sheltered, yet ignorant perception of life. I grew up in a nurturing two parent household, a kind of household that you’d read in the story books. Blissfully ignorant of anything that did not consist of receiving, I would most likely fit your description of a “privileged child.” My childish ignorance blinded me from the problems of the outside world. Until one day when I received a wake up call that changed my life forever. One day in July 2008, the familiar sound of the garage door sounded indescribably foreign to my ears. Instead of being greeted
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It shortly became clear that my cousins were not granted with many of the privileges that I aquired. They had come from a home where their next meal was not automatically expected. A home filled with generational hurt that was impossible to look past. A home with sounds of prescription pills popping, unidentified gentleman knocking, and desperate eyes dropping. This was their reality, a reality much different from my life of entitlement. My cousin’s innocence was robbed of them, and the guilt that I began to feel was inescapable. A household of ten provided me with a challenge that I never thought I would have to endure. After one week of close interaction with my kin, I happened to realize that there is always someone who has it worse. Although I knew it was great to help out those who could not provide for themselves, their stay came with unexpected repercussions. They began to steal from us both mentally and physically simply because they did not know otherwise. Imagine giving assistance to someone who does not feel that they are in need help, everyday of your life. It’s almost impossible. There were constant episodes of rebellious behavior due to the bottling up their emotions. Through the slurs and back talk, I had to realize that our assistance was not in vain. I had to realize that our family was still “perfect” even though you wouldn’t necessarily find it in your average story book..
It shortly became clear that my cousins were not granted with many of the privileges that I aquired. They had come from a home where their next meal was not automatically expected. A home filled with generational hurt that was impossible to look past. A home with sounds of prescription pills popping, unidentified gentleman knocking, and desperate eyes dropping. This was their reality, a reality much different from my life of entitlement. My cousin’s innocence was robbed of them, and the guilt that I began to feel was inescapable. A household of ten provided me with a challenge that I never thought I would have to endure. After one week of close interaction with my kin, I happened to realize that there is always someone who has it worse. Although I knew it was great to help out those who could not provide for themselves, their stay came with unexpected repercussions. They began to steal from us both mentally and physically simply because they did not know otherwise. Imagine giving assistance to someone who does not feel that they are in need help, everyday of your life. It’s almost impossible. There were constant episodes of rebellious behavior due to the bottling up their emotions. Through the slurs and back talk, I had to realize that our assistance was not in vain. I had to realize that our family was still “perfect” even though you wouldn’t necessarily find it in your average story book..