Expert answer:response paper for writing class
Answer & Explanation:This is the document you must read 20150901055343young_father_s_confession_1_.docxChoose one Narration/Reflection essay written by a student. Anonymous, then Write a 3 page essay analyzing and responding to this essay. Your analysis should focus on the purpose and audience of the essay, as well as on the choices the writer has made concerning structure and style. Your response should focus on your perspectiveon the topic, how it is similar to or different from the writer’s and how it shapes your appreciation of the essay.______________________________________________Before you write your paper, you should be able to answer the following questions, using examples from the essay to illustrate your answers.AnalysisWhat experience has the writer chosen to write about and why?When did the experience occur? What was the writer’s life like before the experience?What were the short term effects of the experience?What were the long term effects?How much time does the narrative cover? Which parts are summarized? Is the narrative presented chronologically? If not, where does the writer begin the story, and how is the essay structured?Which parts of the narrative are presented in dramatic scenes?What is the tone of the essay?Who is the intended audience? What is universal about this writer’s experience? (i.e. What can all readers learn from the essay?)ResponseWhy did you choose to write on this essay?How is your perspective similar to and/or different from the writer’s?Do you consider yourself part of the intended audience?What do you admire most about the essay?5. How does this essay help you understand and prepare for Essay 1?
20150901055343young_father_s_confession_1_.docx
Unformatted Attachment Preview
Young Father’s Confession
Everyone has a mother. It is physiologically impossible to be born from anywhere else than a
mother’s womb. And it requires a great deal of pain to give birth to a child and a huge effort to raise it
in the proper way. That is why everyone should appreciate his or her mother, and that is why I
appreciate mine.
However, there should be something more between a mother and her children. There should
be love that makes them feel wanted and welcomed. There should be help and support in what they
are doing, so they are not alone in the world at the very beginning of their lives. And there should be
friendship that helps them communicate and enables children to talk about all their problems.
Unfortunately, it is not always like this in all families.
Far in the past, I can recall that there were five of us. We were living in a small apartment in
the center of a big city. My grandparents lived in one bedroom and my parents and I in the other one.
My father worked very hard at two hospitals, and I seldom saw him at home. He also used to work
night shifts, so when he was at home, he usually slept all the time. My mother was a teacher, so her
work hours started in the morning and ended about two or three o’clock. Then she came home to help
me with my homework and to wait for my father’s phone call about what time he would be home (if he
would be back). At that time, I thought that this was how a normal family life looked. I didn’t realize
that my parents were not a perfect match. She missed him very much every time he was not at home,
while he was doing everything to avoid her company. I didn’t realize that my mother was crying a lot
while I was not watching, or that my grandma often took me for a walk or shopping when my parents
were fighting. I didn’t realize many things at that time.
About fifteen years ago, there was a tendency in Poland to travel to the U.S.A. for a year or two
to work, make some serious money, come back, and make practical use of it. Usually, it was the way
that people financed their own businesses. Such a trip was a very tempting idea, so my father decided
to go. He was away for two years, and we all believed that he was doing this for us, his family who loved
him and couldn’t wait for him to come back. But we were all wrong.
After his return, he spent only two months with us. He and my mother were fighting all that
time, and after one big quarrel he took his bag and walked out the door. He never came back after that,
not even to get his clothes. He just left us, and I have seen him maybe ten times since then.
I was eleven when I found out that I would never have a father again. For my mother it was a
shock. She loved him so much, and she couldn’t believe that it had happened for real. It was a long
time ago, but I think that she stopped going to work for a year at that time. She was sitting alone all the
time and crying. It didn’t take her long to reach for alcohol.
I lost her support and care. I was on my own. She tried to do her best, but she was overwhelmed by her own misery. My grandparents and I tried to help her, but we couldn’t give her the
only thing she wanted. We couldn’t bring him back.
I was eleven when I had to become her support. It was much too heavy a burden for a boy that
age.
Her friends started to come over and visit her. They were mostly women that she had gone to
college with, or other teachers from her school. They all tried to cheer her up or entertain her. Some of
them brought alcohol. They thought that it would help her to forget about the pain for a while, to cheer
up and smile again, to see the future in brighter colors. She started going out with them every Saturday
to a bar or some party. She usually came back drunk. We believed that it was good for her to go out
instead of sitting at home crying all the time.
She usually got drunk twice a week. Most often my grandparents and I were sleeping when she
got back, so there were no real problems. She is the kind of person who become aggressive after
drinking, so when she met any of while she was under the influence of alcohol, she used to start a
quarrel. She blamed my grandparents or me for what my father had done. She accused us of ruining
her life. She was screaming and shouting, even though it was the middle of the night and all our
neighbors could hear. We had no way to stop her; we could just wait for her to get tired and go to bed.
The only thing that we could do was to stay out of her way when she was drinking. So when
she went out in the evening, my grandparents went to bed very early, and I either did the same or slept
over at my best friend’s house.
One day my best friend was leaving to go see his relatives for Christmas, so I walked him to the
train station. It was December and it got dark pretty early. I didn’t know that another friend had come
to visit my mother. I came back home at five o’clock in the afternoon. When I heard the tone of her
voice (which used to change a lot when she was drinking), I knew what was going to happen. I just
couldn’t figure out what the quarrel would be about. She started screaming at me, “Where the hell
have you been all night? Who do you think you are? You are just like your father. How old are you?
Do you think that you can just walk out and come back at five o’clock in the morning without saying
a word where you’re going? I tried to explain to her that it was evening, not morning, but she wasn’t
listening to me. So I just turned around and walked out. I kept wandering around downtown for a few
hours before I came back, not until I was sure that she was sleeping. In the morning, as usual, she didn’t
remember a thing from the evening before.
Such scenes happened often, but we got used to them. I thought that it couldn’t get much
worse. Again, I was mistaken.
One night my girlfriend was sleeping over at my home. She woke me up in the middle of the
night. I was so sleepy that it took me a while to gather my thoughts and see what was going on. It
was one o’clock in the morning. She did not say anything, just kept staring at the door. When I
looked that way too, I saw my mother. She was naked except for a towel. She was crying, so I couldn’t
understand what she was talking about. Then I saw that the towel was stained with blood.
I thought that she had had some kind of accident. I could recall that she was drinking when I
was going to bed. I came to her and asked what happened. She kept saying, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t do
It. I’m so sorry.” The most blood was on her arm. I took her to the bathroom to clean it up and see
what had happened. I kept asking her “What happened?” but she was too drunk to answer. As I
started rinsing her arm with cold water over the bathtub, I saw two razor blades lying on the
side of the bathtub. They were also stained with blood. She must have used them. In that moment, I
understood everything that had happened that night.
I called an ambulance, and it took us to the hospital. My mother had tried to cut both her
wrists, but she only managed to cut through the skin and some tissue, not through veins. Yet,
stitches were necessary, and the doctor also told her to talk to a psychiatrist that night. She met
this psychiatrist and kept seeing her for about three months. The only thing she learned there was
that it wasn’t her fault. She should blame her family for making her do such a thing. She should
blame us.
She stopped drinking for some time. Being so close to death probably scared her. She also
realized she was too weak to kill herself. But my grandparents and I were not so sure of that.
She didn’t drink for five months, till the death of my grandmother. When she saw her dead,
she suddenly changed to a loving daughter who could not live without her mother. We knew that this
was not exactly true, but we didn’t say a word. We had heard her complaining about having to take
care of a sick person at home instead of getting her professional care at the hospital. But my grandmother had cancer, and we wanted her to die peacefully at home.
Anyway, it was a great excuse for her to start drinking again. I had moved out two months
earlier, and my grandpa was still mourning his wife’s death. We were both scared that my mother
might try to kill herself again, but we knew that we couldn’t do anything to stop her. We could
just wait, getting up every time after she came back from a party to check if she was still alive.
This is how the situation also looks today. A year after my grandmother’s death, I came
to the U.S. to study. My mother hasn’t made any more suicide attempts, but we can never be sure
if things will change. Every time I call home and hear her drunk, I am frightened. I cannot sleep and
I keep thinking all night about what she is doing. I call her the next day to check if everything is okay.
I talk to Grandpa, too; he always tells me how she is doing and how often she drinks. But he is getting
older and older, and soon he will not be able to look after her. I just hope he will manage to handle this
until I get back there.
I wish I had a mother who had been able to take care of me during my whole childhood. One
who could help me with all my problems, support me in my misery, and laugh with me in my joy.
Instead, I had to take care of my mother and watch out for her so she wouldn’t do anything stupid
and try to hurt herself. Often I felt that she was my child, and I tried to look after her as if I were her
second father. But I was too young to manage that task. I wasn’t ready for that. And I failed.
…
Purchase answer to see full
attachment
How it works
- Paste your instructions in the instructions box. You can also attach an instructions file
- Select the writer category, deadline, education level and review the instructions
- Make a payment for the order to be assignment to a writer
- Download the paper after the writer uploads it
Will the writer plagiarize my essay?
You will get a plagiarism-free paper and you can get an originality report upon request.
Is this service safe?
All the personal information is confidential and we have 100% safe payment methods. We also guarantee good grades