Personal Narrative: I Am A First Generation Child In The United States

There was an endless nocturnal silence that filled my room. I felt my fatigued eyes gently fall into a soothing darkness. Everything seemed okay that one night. I felt an eternal comfort surrounding me, shielded by the love of my mother, father, and little brother. Everything seemed ok that one night. A faint echo of a man shouting ringed throughout my ears. I suddenly sensed myself returning to reality, clinging onto my Spongebob Squarepants plush, dressed in my Transformer’s pajamas, and moaning in anger as I finally awoke from my not so eternal slumber. Doom! Chains rattled from the locks on the door and suddenly my front door, decorated in the stickers my father always bought me, was on the floor with a bootprint distinguishing itself from the stickers. “Poor Kid” said the Police Officer in a sympathetic tone. My small nine year old body shook in fear, confusion, and anger. I …show more content…
Yes, I am a first generation child in the United States of America. Yes, I am the first in my family on the road to achieving a college education. But these factors are not what make me divergent. I endlessly envied the kids whose fathers picked them up from school. I envied the kids who played catch with their father. I envied those who had simply had a father in their lives. What does this have to do with anything? It was this envy that made realize I soon grew up in the developing divergency of my own mind. The absence of my father sparked a permanent, internal flame which sculpted my own identity. I soon found myself disagreeing with those who felt it was necessary to have a father figure throughout their youth. I bled, sweat, and cried on the football field without a father. I had long, arduous nights completing shipwrecks of homework without a father. I graduated from middle school without a father. I found out about love and relationships without a father. I became an ambitious, dedicated individual all without a