I’d never underestimate the struggles of being a parent, because I haven’t yet been one. However, I do believe that no matter the hardships a person may be obligated to go through with their children, extreme violence towards that child is unacceptable and unnecessary. It solves nothing; it only leaves that child to be broken in the end, especially when they justifiably did nothing wrong.

            My dad isn’t a normal man, but then again, he is. He has no addictions to anything other than coffee and cigarettes, which wouldn’t give him the powerful outlook he has on himself. I can see right through him, but I’m unable to determine why he is the way he is. He honestly believes he’s better than everyone else, and what he says is right. There’s no talking to him; he may just be the most stubborn person I ever met, and fully realizing this, I unintentionally stepped into the beating of a lifetime.

            I wasn’t a good student in my early years of high school. I always attended class, but what good does that do when you don’t do any work? Anyway, I had an afterschool commitment that I attended, against my will. I had to go to Grade Recovery, a program that brought an F on my report card to a D. I wouldn’t consider Science Leadership Academy to be a normal school, which explains why on Thursdays we got out of school at 3:50 PM. Grade Recovery started at 4:15 PM, and was over at 5:45 PM. My best friend at the time would always suggest going to Papa John’s after long advisories and Grade Recovery as a way to cool off and just hang out. That Thursday, I got home around 7:30 PM, which didn’t seem to late to me. However, my dad felt differently.

            I came inside and tried to explain to my father why I had been so late, but he didn’t want to hear any of it. He threw me off though, because his tone of voice seemed so far from violent. I figured he didn’t mind, so I went upstairs to my room. I was sitting in a corner on my laptop, playing a game. When I looked up, I saw my dad. His face was redder than my face would be in a few minutes. I knew what was coming though, because as he came closer to me, I kept asking him to calm down. He picked my laptop off my lap and threw it at me. It hit me in the arm and bounced onto the floor. I was furious, because I didn’t have $1,000 to fix a laptop that wasn’t even mine, but before I had a chance to make that clear, he did something I’ll never forgive him for doing.

            As soon as I saw his hand coming for my face, I tried to duck, but he was too quick for me. He punched me in my left cheek, right below my eye. I could feel my skin being forced off my face, then coming back to my bones, much like how it happens in boxing. I was hysterical. I kept trying to get up and leave the room, and every time I would he would grab my ponytail and throw me backwards to the floor. My stepmother was in the doorway, watching as if she enjoyed what she saw.

            “If it were your kids you wouldn’t be standing there watching. You’d be going after him, making him stop. You’re really just going to stand there and watch this?”

            She had nothing to say. She just shrugged her shoulders as if it were nothing. Typical evil stepmother move; I felt like Cinderella, except with a father who was on her side.

            I didn’t care if my hair got ripped right out of my scalp; I was getting out of that room. I got up again, trying to leave, knowing I’d have to push my stepmother aside, which would only land me in more trouble. I tried to run, but this time when my father grabbed my hair, instead of pulling me backwards to the ground, he pushed me forward towards the steps. My stepmother moved out of the doorway, as if they’d planned this out precisely for weeks. Although I almost fell down the stairs, it was better than being in that room.

            I ran down the stairs, looked for my schoolbag, and headed towards the back door. I saw my little brother sitting in a chair, crying, asking me not to leave.

            “I have to buddy, I’m sorry. I’ll be back soon, I promise. I love you,” I said to Storm, as I kissed his forehead reassuringly.

            I didn’t have time to put on and tie my shoes, so I decided to skip looking for them. With my schoolbag and jacket in hand, I ran out the door and through the cold, muddy yard. I got to the graveyard, which was unfortunately locked. I didn’t have time to go around, which would give my father time to find me, if he even tried. I hopped the graveyard fence, and then swerved in and out of gravestones. When I got to the other side, I climbed over the fence and ran about 20 feet to my house. I ran inside crying, asking for my mother or brother. My stepdad said my mother wasn’t home, so I ran into my brother’s room. I fell on the floor, spilling out every detail of what had happened.

            When I went to school the next day, a teacher had noticed a bruise on my face. I had been late to class because I was covering the bruise up with makeup, or trying to at least. The teacher kept asking what had happened, but I kept denying anything. Finally, I told him I’d gotten into an argument with my dad. I tried to make him swear not to say anything, but he told me he would lose his job, so he brought me to the office, where they called DHS.

            DHS had come to my house a few times, interviewed me at school, taken pictures of my brother and I, making us all feel like criminals. The last time he came to my father’s house, I was present.

            “You’re daughter keeps defending you, and we realize this is most likely a mistake, and something that didn’t mean to happen. However, hitting your kids, especially hard enough to leave bruises is not okay. The next time we get reports on you, your children will be taken away from you,” said the man from DHS.

            As soon as he walked out the door, my father said something that caused me to live in even more fear of him than I already did.

            “Don’t think because DHS came, I wouldn’t hit you again, because I would.”

            He never hit me again, but we aren’t on the best terms. We hardly see each other, because I dread going to his house to visit him. When I do go, it’s to see my younger brothers and sister. I live at my mother’s house full time, which can be very hard at times, considering my father contributes nothing. Him being the violent, demented man he is left me broken inside, striving for a relationship with my father that will never exist. It wore me down inside, leaving me with a destroyed self esteem because my own father doesn’t try having anything to do with me. For this reason, violence from parents to children is a mistake. It’s wrong, and ruins more than it fixes, and should be viewed as unacceptable in all societies.

The last few years I have been described in ways that contradict each other. My mom describes me as very logical but my friends love how random I am. My favorite classes are computer science, pre-calculus, and physics but I love making abstract art and am always making up imaginary worlds and people. These two sides of me wouldn't seem to mix but I don't think that things that seem to contradict have to be in different places but can thrive together.

One way I have seen this the most is in my friendship with Keriann. When I first met her in third grade I hated her. She was loud, she talked to much about things I had never heard of, and would joke about things that would hurt my feelings. I was quiet, would rather talk to someone who was not there then have a real conversation, and would easily get upset and cry. The only reason we even met was because a lunch lady made us spend recess together because nether of us had any friends. Keriann needed someone to talk to even if I was never paying attention. A few years later we were best friends. She did all the talking and I would learn not to take anything she says seriously. No looking back at it I know that I would had have a lot less fun and a lot more emotional trials if I had not become friends with someone who I still hate today.      

This I believe

I believe that every one makes mistakes.  But every one learns from there mistakes in a different way.  Like last year my attendants  at school sucked because I would some times tell my parents that I didn't have school or I don't have to be in school till a later time and they believed me because they thought I would never do some thing like cut school.  I knew what I was doing was wrong a mistake but I didn't stop doing it or learn from it. Until this year when One day my mom wrote Mister Reddy to ask him a question and Mister Reddy wrote my mom back how is Joe doing.  My mom was unsure what he was talking about because for all she knew I was fine so she asked him what he was talking about. He said that joe has not been in school for the last two days I thought he was sick. My mom was so mad when she heard that. She was screaming at me.  She took my phone my games I wasn't aloud out side for a month. And all of this because I didn't feel like going to school.  But not only did I learn from this that cutting is a serious thing I learned that my parents wont be here for the rest of my life they won't be here to give me money when I need it and put a roof over my head and give food to eat and clothes to wear.  So if I want to make something of my life I got to go to school and get into a good college and get a good job so that I won't need my parents to put a roof over my head and give me food and buy me clothes and give me a bed to sleep in.  I can do it on my own.  I believe that we not only learn from our mistakes but each mistake we make it helps us grow and become more of an adult

i believe that not every one with a good report card is smart.i realize from a personal expareuse. i remember one day when so students and i were talking about our report card. we came to the conclusion that i had better grade them everyone else. than one of the student made a smart comments towards me, that it was funny how i'm grades are better than theirs but they are smarter than i'm and also told me that just because i got good grades does not mean i'm smart. i was hurt by the comments but i also thought they were kind of funny because i realize i never actually said i was smarter than them or anything like that. that's because i know the student was right. the only reason why my grades were better than their is because i worked very hard for them and did my works. i knew by me getting good grades do not mean i'm smart because deep down inside i knew I'm not smart. my grades just means that i do my work.

Nowadays people are talking about how a man and a woman can only get married and have a relationship. That there's no such thing as man to man and woman to woman marriage. In my opinion, why are you being a hater? If I'm right there's no law where it states that only a woman and a man can love each other. Like, come on! We live in Philadelphia too! The city of brotherly love. Well I guess thats a double meaning kind of phrase. 
A person can love whoever they want to fall in love with. A person can get marry to whoever they wanted to marry. Love is love and there's no gender, kind, or type. If they are not bothering you, why are you going to bother them? All they wanted to do is love. Who doesn't want to fall love anyway? For them loving someone who's the same gender as they are doesn't make them less of a human. Actually, people hating them are the people who's degrading themselves. They're not the problem, the haters are. 
People sometimes say that I'm Christian but I like gay people. Yes, I am Christian and yes, I know how to treat them. I treat them equally. All of us are human beings so I am not going to treat them like trash. I believe what I believe and they believe what they believe. I respect whoever they wanted to be in a relationship with. I am not to judge someone. They love someone and I know the pain of someone going against it. I don't want them to have those feelings and neither should be the haters. 

I dont think you're going to like it if I stop you from loving someone, right? Treat people the way you want to be treated. In other words. STOP BEING A HATER. 

"Be Yourself" well, what if one cannot? Trends and "what's in" is constantly being built off what was "in" before. From 1980's and 1990's, snapbacks were the popular accessary and was apart of the people of that time's attire. As of 2011, teenagers are bringing back snapbacks as if they created something new. Fashion is recycle by the minute and are based on old trends to create new ones. 


Clothes are not the only thing that is recycled in this generation. Slang words such as "dope" which was started in the 1970's is being used and abused by most teenagers in this generation. Famous rapper, Drake, came out with an album titled "October's Very Own" and on that album was a song called "The Motto". Throughout the song, Drake explains that his motto is "YOLO" which is an acronym meaning "You Only Live Once". Teenagers are using this acronym as if Drake created this new rule to live by when he only simply took an old quote and made it into his words. 

This generation of teenagers are known to follow and take in what everyone else is doing. The fact that they follow is not their fault because everything that is out now has been recycled from the past. Before one says, "Be Original" they should first think, "Well,How original am I?"