Personal Narrative: Immigrant Home

Words: 495
Pages: 2

Home is where the heart is, or at least that is what everyone says. I remember coming home to what seemed like traffic: familiar cars such as my aunt’s ashy gray dodge, my cousins ultramarine camry, parked in front of my house. I wondered what they were all doing at my house on a Friday afternoon. The cold autumn wind brushed against my hair as I ran inside to greet my aunts and uncles. As I walked inside I felt the warmth cover my body. I turned around and all eyes were on me. Suddenly, the room did not feel so warm. My sister, Lysette, brought me into her room and told me what had happened. My father had suffered an acute heart attack.
Luckily, he was rushed to the hospital before any severe physical damage was caused. The heart attack was due to his addiction to alcohol. He would lose control of how much he drank and the consequences soon faced him and our family. What triggered my father's addiction was the constant stress he and my mother faced. My parents always had to work hard for their money. Every penny they made contributed to the meals we ate together. The need for money was never ending and due to our financial circumstances I was left in the care of my older sister, Lysette.
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Coming from a first-generation immigrant home, Spanish was my first language, therefore she helped teach me how to read and write in both English and Spanish. Lysette also taught me and my younger brother how to treat others the way we would want to be treated. Since she was older, she knew how to handle everything at young age and that rubbed off on me. When my father had his heart attack, she helped pay for his medical bills. Although we have different biological fathers, Lysette still treated my father with respect she would of wanted, despite him treating her completely different than he did with me and my younger