First off, before I start the story behind my narrative of crossing the border of hate, I want everyone to know that this is a very personal story and I appreciate everyone's respect in this manner.
Throughout my entire childhood, I’ve had to undergo the pain of crossing the border to my grandma’s house on a weekly basis. You may think this sounds wonderful, and I should be happy to go to my grandma’s house, but this couldn’t be any farther from the truth. In my visits to her house, I would often leave the house in tears, crying because she had made fun of my family. My mom had the worst of it, as my grandma would always have negative things to say about her, and the way she was raising us kids. She would make fun of my sister because of her gain in weight throughout puberty, and the blame was always on my mom. As a young boy, at age six, I remember quite frequently, my mother coming up to me saying, “It’s time to go.” I would see tears in her eyes, and I never questioned her, I would just get up and go home. At age 14, I was baptized into the catholic church due to my father’s past marriage disrupting my chances of being baptized as a baby. Following my baptism, and as I was about to leave, a set of hateful words erupted from my grandma’s voice. Without caring about my feelings, she said, “Why you are wearing a girl’s coat, is your mom and dad raising you as a gay boy?” My coat was a dark orange color, a perfectly normal color for a teenage boy to wear. This was the moment, I realized why my mom dragged me away from her house in tears. After hearing this, I remember running at full speed directly to the car crying, waiting to go home. Throughout my years of high school, and up to my present life, the hate has continued to show. This past Christmas I announced I wasn’t attending the family gathering, because I was tired of seeing my family getting mistreated. My grandma called me soon after, saying I wasn’t normal, and that I haven’t experienced anything in the real world. Ever since this conversation I’ve made my mind up, that I’m not crossing the border of hate any longer, and I’m going to avoid this type of bullying in my life. While as a child, I crossed this border because I was forced too, my parents saying, “It’s your grandma, you have to go.” Every time I crossed this border of hate, I’ve had to deal with the consequences of continuing to hear my family getting put down, bullied, and harassed. I felt hopeless, with my hands sweating each time I entered the property and feeling depressed each time my parents mentioned her name. At the current state, my parents continue to visit her house, but I’ve chosen to isolate myself from the bullying and stress. My parents are in support of my decision, and my mom is proud of me for doing this action, as she would wish to do the same thing, but she feels it would crush her marriage. As I relate this border back to my first essay on describing the definition of a border, I can see a variety of similarities among them. As I said in my first essay, “A border is a very complex system, that can’t be explained very easily.” I can relate this definition to my border of hate, as yes, it’s not something that can be explained easily. This border isn’t an easy thing to explain, but the main point surround it, can be determined. I think after creating this narrative, and connecting it back to my first essay, I can personally realize how complex border’s can be, and that their not as simple as some people may think. Overall, I’m happy in my decision to escape the hate that I experienced throughout my entire life, and I look forward to the future days of surrounding myself with people that love, and care about me.
Thanks for letting me tell my story.
Throughout my entire childhood, I’ve had to undergo the pain of crossing the border to my grandma’s house on a weekly basis. You may think this sounds wonderful, and I should be happy to go to my grandma’s house, but this couldn’t be any farther from the truth. In my visits to her house, I would often leave the house in tears, crying because she had made fun of my family. My mom had the worst of it, as my grandma would always have negative things to say about her, and the way she was raising us kids. She would make fun of my sister because of her gain in weight throughout puberty, and the blame was always on my mom. As a young boy, at age six, I remember quite frequently, my mother coming up to me saying, “It’s time to go.” I would see tears in her eyes, and I never questioned her, I would just get up and go home. At age 14, I was baptized into the catholic church due to my father’s past marriage disrupting my chances of being baptized as a baby. Following my baptism, and as I was about to leave, a set of hateful words erupted from my grandma’s voice. Without caring about my feelings, she said, “Why you are wearing a girl’s coat, is your mom and dad raising you as a gay boy?” My coat was a dark orange color, a perfectly normal color for a teenage boy to wear. This was the moment, I realized why my mom dragged me away from her house in tears. After hearing this, I remember running at full speed directly to the car crying, waiting to go home. Throughout my years of high school, and up to my present life, the hate has continued to show. This past Christmas I announced I wasn’t attending the family gathering, because I was tired of seeing my family getting mistreated. My grandma called me soon after, saying I wasn’t normal, and that I haven’t experienced anything in the real world. Ever since this conversation I’ve made my mind up, that I’m not crossing the border of hate any longer, and I’m going to avoid this type of bullying in my life. While as a child, I crossed this border because I was forced too, my parents saying, “It’s your grandma, you have to go.” Every time I crossed this border of hate, I’ve had to deal with the consequences of continuing to hear my family getting put down, bullied, and harassed. I felt hopeless, with my hands sweating each time I entered the property and feeling depressed each time my parents mentioned her name. At the current state, my parents continue to visit her house, but I’ve chosen to isolate myself from the bullying and stress. My parents are in support of my decision, and my mom is proud of me for doing this action, as she would wish to do the same thing, but she feels it would crush her marriage. As I relate this border back to my first essay on describing the definition of a border, I can see a variety of similarities among them. As I said in my first essay, “A border is a very complex system, that can’t be explained very easily.” I can relate this definition to my border of hate, as yes, it’s not something that can be explained easily. This border isn’t an easy thing to explain, but the main point surround it, can be determined. I think after creating this narrative, and connecting it back to my first essay, I can personally realize how complex border’s can be, and that their not as simple as some people may think. Overall, I’m happy in my decision to escape the hate that I experienced throughout my entire life, and I look forward to the future days of surrounding myself with people that love, and care about me.
Thanks for letting me tell my story.
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