Example research essay topic: Father Will Be Angry Works As A Supervisor Mother - 1,298 words

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For love within a family, love that's lived in But not looked at, love within the light of which All else is seen, the love within which Words not only affect us temporarily; they change us, they socialize or un socialize us. Everyone has issues with their parents. That's just common knowledge. Most people my age will tell you they hate their parents: Not many people say that last one. On the surface, I have a great family, and therefore a great life. My mother and father have been happily married for twenty-one years.

I have a younger brother, Robbie, and also a younger sister, Rachel. And we have a dog. I also have a huge extended family: one grandfather, two grandmothers, seven uncles, eight aunts, and eleven cousins. My parents both work. My mother works as a supervisor of the mammography department of a hospital, and my father works as a supervisor of a mechanical department of an aluminum plant. Also, my father sleeps during most of the day because he works the "graveyard shift. " So, if you take my family for surface value, you'd probably say that I have a great family.

But I'm the one who lives here. My father and I used to have a good relationship... back when I was four. I was "Daddy's little girl. " He'd take me camping in the back yard. And I'd wear his camouflage make-up. And we'd sleep under the stars.

I was his little soldier. As I have become older, my dad's become less reasonable, and more demanding. Once I received straight A's in school. After that, straight A's were mandatory. And if I didn't come through with perfect grades, I'd be grounded. Being grounded meant that I couldn't leave the house unless it was for school or because of a fire.

And I couldn't watch television or make any phone calls. When I got home from school, I had to do the chores. These included doing the household laundry (washing, drying, folding, and putting away), dishes (washing, drying, and putting away), sometimes ironing, making sure all the rooms were straight, helping my siblings with their homework, my own homework, and sometimes I had to fix dinner. I was also required to carry a house key, let myself in, and baby sit Rachel and Robbie until my mother came home from work.

This "routine" of sorts began when I was nine years old. If one of these chores went undone, or wasn't done to my father's set of standards, I would be in deep trouble. When he woke up to go to work, my mom would tell him what hadn't been done, and then my father would start yelling. Now my father is always angry with me, for the tiniest things.

I might not have made my bed well enough to suit him, so he becomes angry. And when he's angry, he says things: "You lack everything necessary to be a good daughter. "You " re worthless. "Why can't you be better?"You " re 100 % disrespectful. "You don't set a good enough example for your younger siblings. "You " re old enough; why don't you just pack up and leave. "Maybe I need to be like my old man and smack you across head one time. " Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can... words hurt. My father knows this. That's why he does it. Forty-five percent of the general population of America, and maybe even up to fifty percent, insult or swear at their children (83 Mays).

Though I may not believe the things he says, it still hurts me to know that he believes them. Usually, my mother will defend me. But there are times when she just doesn't have the strength. If my mother is on my father's side, then my father will be angry at me, I'll be upset, and my mother will be perfectly content. But if my mother is on my side of things, I'll be upset, my father will be angry at me, and my parents will be angry at each other. I understand why my mother sides with him sometimes.

Generally, my dad and I avoid each other. But when he decides he wants to "talk" to me, we never talk; we argue. I think I had brought home a C in my English class which provoked a lecture / argument between my parents and me. My father particularly proceeded to tell me how stupid I was, and how horrible of a daughter I was. I didn't want to hear it.

I had heard the same thing a thousand times, and he repeated the same insults over and over and over again. Words hurt! I was already in my work uniform because I had to be at work in about 30 minutes or so. But I decided that I'd just go in early.

So I grabbed my purse and my car keys and I ran out the door. But my parents weren't done talking "with" me. Once I arrived and my boss saw how upset I was, he told me that I could go up to the break room and take as much time as I needed to calm down. And once I got upstairs, a fellow employee came up and informed me that my mother was in the lobby looking for me. I was too afraid to go downstairs and face her. I thought she'd take me back home, and I never wanted to go back.

So I hid upstairs, behind the work lockers until my mother came up to find me. With angry, worried tears streaming down her cheeks, she searched my pockets until she found my car keys. She put them in her purse and said she'd be at work to pick me up when I got off at 9: 30 PM. I told her that I wasn't going to be there.

After my mother's departure, I called my friend, Erin, who immediately came to pick me up. I went to her house where her family gave me a warm meal, my own bedroom, clothes to sleep in, and clothes to wear the next day. I couldn't sleep that night. I wasn't running away from my parents; I was running away from my father. It hurt me to leave my mother, even if it was for only a night.

This night wasn't like a sleep-over at a friend's house. My mother didn't know where I was. I really felt horrible. But I couldn't call her. The next day at school, I was called to the office.

My parents were both there, and they demanded that I return home with them. "If you don't come with us now, Shelly, " Dad said, "I will take all your belongings and put them in trash bags on the street. You can come by and pick them up, and that will be the last you see of this family. " Sitting there in that tiny room in my school's office, I just could not see how my father could give me that ultimatum, especially after what he had done. After eighteen and a half years to the day, I reached a turning point. Actually, my father brought this change in attitude upon me himself... with a clenched fist. It was 9 o'clock in the morning, and we were arguing about something that I can't even remember.

The rest of my family was seated in our living room watching television, when the argument began. Not wanting to fight, I had walked away; I didn't want to run from him, didn't want to show my fear. I was in the middle of the staircase, walking up, and my father ran up behind me. I really didn...

Research essay sample on Father Will Be Angry Works As A Supervisor Mother