Eight Teen Years Of My Life example essay topic

THESIS: I always knew I was different, but I never knew exactly how or why, until my mother opened an unexpected door in my life. My Fathers' Eyes "Whose eyes do I have?" I asked my mother. "You have my eyes sweetheart", she replied. I would go through every body part, and still, she would respond the same. Although we resembled each other, I knew I had to look like someone else too. I always knew I was different, but I never knew exactly how or why, until my mother opened an unexpected door in my life.

Double-jointed elbows, fingers, shoulders, and knuckles are a few individualities I discovered at an early age. My elbows bend inside out, and my shoulders can pop out of their sockets. Since I would sometimes use the shoulder trick to get out of school, my mom caught on to me quickly. She learned how to put my arm back into its socket. "Who else in our family is double-jointed?" I asked my mother. "Only you sweetheart, only you", she answered.

Many physical characteristics set me apart from my other family members, or at least from the family I knew. I was eight-teen years old, when my mother came to me with delicate tears in her eyes and asked, "Kim, can we please go for a drive and talk?" My heart felt like a ton of bricks, and my body shook with fear as if someone had passed away. As we drove around the country roads, my mom began to weep. She pulled over on the side of the road and looked into my curios eyes. I could sense her compassion and fear when she told me who my biological father is.

For eight-teen years, I believed that Richard Stafford was my biological father, but I never had the opportunity to know him well. I wrapped my arms around my mother and assured her of my love and forgiveness. At that time, I mourned for my mothers' pain and not my own. Charles Phillip Webster is my biological father.

"Who is he? Do I look like him?" I asked. My mom answered some of my questions that day in the car, but most of them were a mystery. My mom handed me a piece of paper with a phone number to where she believed my dad would be. With my hands shaking, my heart pounding, and excitement flowing through my body, I called the phone number that my mom handed to me. "Hello... hello?" a cheerful voice answered.

"Is Phil Webster home?" I asked. "Phil who? Little Phil or big Phil?" he jokingly replied. "Who is this?" he asked. "Kim... Kim Stafford", I slowly replied.

It seemed like an hour went by before he asked, "Kim? My daughter Kim in Iowa?" I heard my father cry, and I knew he cried because he loved me. My mother had been writing my dad letters, and sending pictures to him for many years. Even though she never knew if he received any of them, she continued to send them all those years.

Geographical complications, along with other obstacles, kept me from ever meeting my father, but I did receive a Christmas card that year. Pictures of my sisters, brother, aunt, cousin, grand parents, and dad were enclosed with the card. I have my fathers' eyes, ears, and sense of humor. My sister's have double-jointed elbows, and we all resemble each other in some way. I always knew I was different, and now I know why. I lived eight-teen years of my life not knowing my biological father, and now I live my life learning about who he was.

My life changed on that day my mother and I took that drive to talk. Even though it was 11 years ago, every word my mother used to describe my father stays with me today and always.