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The stereotypical grandmother is a sweet old woman, always carrying a plate of fresh baked cookies, who lives just over the river and through the woods. As a child, my grandmother seemed very similar to this fairy tale rendition, but as I have grown I have realized that she has played a much larger role in my life than the storybooks, and really anyone, could have predicted. When I was thirteen years old, my mother kicked me out of the house. My grandmother graciously took me in, since my father had no means of caring for me. Three years later, my mother left. There has probably never been a more devastating event in my life. I may have only seen her occasionally, but "never" was a whole new idea. It was always upsetting to never see her at my plays or concerts, but it was completely different to contemplate that on graduation night, I would have the same problem. That at my wedding, there would be no mother of the bride. That when I had a child, there would be no one there to teach me how to care for a human being. That one day I would receive a phone call announcing her death, and when I went to look inside the casket, I wouldn't even recognize the woman inside. I wrote two things about my mother that sum us up pretty well. One was called, You're Perfect... And I Love You. It was a short story about myself struggling with the idea that if I could be the best, my mother would still love me. It won first prize in a writing contest, and I couldn't hold my tears back as I read the three pages of my life to a room of people I didn't know. Somewhere in that story are lines expressing the pain of my mother's absence at every school function, and somewhere in that moment is irony that she wasn't in that audience either. The other piece that I wrote was a letter to my mother. It had more distinct pronouns and peoples' real names, which I hardly ever used. I wrote down every curse word I had for her, and every dream that she had broken. I made her a list of all the things in my life that she had missed while she was here, while she was gone, and what she was going to miss. I told her all my fears of not having a mother; how much I hated her for doing this to me, and how much I hated me for doing this to me. I ended with "I miss you." When I showed it to my grandmother, the only thing she had to say was, "I'll be there." She meant at graduation, at the wedding, at the birth of my child, and for the first time in my life, I saw just how much I mean to her. Recently, I have discovered just how much my grandmother has done for my brother and myself, and as the time grows nearer for me to move out of the house, each little thing she has done for me unveils itself as something so much larger. She has told me of countless Christmas presents she had paid for, that my mother passed on with the gift cards signed by herself. She has told me of checks written for basic necessities, like food and electricity. Even though I didn't realize it, my grandmother has always been there, checking in to make sure I had what I needed, but never taking credit for it. She even took my mother to court to gain control of the government money intended for my brother and me. She's been the representative payee for a few years now, and we have everything we could ever need, plus a little extra. In addition to physically providing for me, my grandmother grew to be the emotional rock to which I lashed out at and latched on to. I was filled with so much anger and hurt from my mother, and she patiently sat and waited it out. Now, I have grown to a place where I am able to discuss my feelings rather than hurl my emotions out in a big angry ball at the person closest to me. Each day it seems I have a new revelation about why I say something a certain way or have a certain reaction to something, and whenever I reveal this information to her, she just smiles, and says, "Well. I always knew that." My grandmother also had issues with her mother, who left her as a child. She also has had, and will probably have more, issues with my mother, who has taken advantage of her at every given chance. When she talks about watching my mother destroy our family, she gets tears in her eyes. Her love for my brother and me is so clear, that I cannot believe it took me so long to see it. At seventy-three years old, she has just learned to deal with her emotions entangled in these issues, and when she looks at me, she is able to recognize where I am at, and understands. There is nothing more important in the world than to have someone who understands. The things she has done for me have changed my life forever, even if I am just starting to comprehend them today. She kept me from opening the kitchen cabinets to empty shelves, and enabled me to buy new school supplies each year. She gave me a chance to become less angry, and stood by me as I grew to understand myself. She was at every single theatre performance, band concert, and cheered in the stands when my name was announced at graduation. She has become so much more to me than a grandmother; she has truly morphed into all that I ever really needed - an advocate, a guardian angel, a mother.
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Introduction
  • Is the main idea (i.e., the writer's opinion of the story title) stated clearly?
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Body Paragraph
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  • Does each body paragraph include specific information from the text(including quoted evidence from the text, if required by the instructor)that supports the topic sentence?
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Conclusion
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Overall Essay
  • Is any important material left unsaid?
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Not the Stereotypical Grandmother
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Not The Stereotypical Grandmother

Words: 1008    Pages: 4    Paragraphs: 9    Sentences: 50    Read Time: 03:39
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              The stereotypical grandmother is a sweet old woman, always carrying a plate of fresh baked cookies, who lives just over the river and through the woods. As a child, my grandmother seemed very similar to this fairy tale rendition, but as I have grown I have realized that she has played a much larger role in my life than the storybooks, and really anyone, could have predicted.
              When I was thirteen years old, my mother kicked me out of the house. My grandmother graciously took me in, since my father had no means of caring for me. Three years later, my mother left. There has probably never been a more devastating event in my life. I may have only seen her occasionally, but "never" was a whole new idea. It was always upsetting to never see her at my plays or concerts, but it was completely different to contemplate that on graduation night, I would have the same problem. That at my wedding, there would be no mother of the bride. That when I had a child, there would be no one there to teach me how to care for a human being. That one day I would receive a phone call announcing her death, and when I went to look inside the casket, I wouldn't even recognize the woman inside.
              I wrote two things about my mother that sum us up pretty well. One was called, You're Perfect. . . And I Love You. It was a short story about myself struggling with the idea that if I could be the best, my mother would still love me. It won first prize in a writing contest, and I couldn't hold my tears back as I read the three pages of my life to a room of people I didn't know. Somewhere in that story are lines expressing the pain of my mother's absence at every school function, and somewhere in that moment is irony that she wasn't in that audience either.
              The other piece that I wrote was a letter to my mother. It had more distinct pronouns and peoples' real names, which I hardly ever used. I wrote down every curse word I had for her, and every dream that she had broken. I made her a list of all the things in my life that she had missed while she was here, while she was gone, and what she was going to miss. I told her all my fears of not having a mother; how much I hated her for doing this to me, and how much I hated me for doing this to me. I ended with "I miss you. "
              When I showed it to my grandmother, the only thing she had to say was, "I'll be there. " She meant at graduation, at the wedding, at the birth of my child, and for the first time in my life, I saw just how much I mean to her.
              Recently, I have discovered just how much my grandmother has done for my brother and myself, and as the time grows nearer for me to move out of the house, each little thing she has done for me unveils itself as something so much larger. She has told me of countless Christmas presents she had paid for, that my mother passed on with the gift cards signed by herself. She has told me of checks written for basic necessities, like food and electricity. Even though I didn't realize it, my grandmother has always been there, checking in to make sure I had what I needed, but never taking credit for it. She even took my mother to court to gain control of the government money intended for my brother and me. She's been the representative payee for a few years now, and we have everything we could ever need, plus a little extra.
              In addition to physically providing for me, my grandmother grew to be the emotional rock to which I lashed out at and latched on to. I was filled with so much anger and hurt from my mother, and she patiently sat and waited it out. Now, I have grown to a place where I am able to discuss my feelings rather than hurl my emotions out in a big angry ball at the person closest to me. Each day it seems I have a new revelation about why I say something a certain way or have a certain reaction to something, and whenever I reveal this information to her, she just smiles, and says, "Well. I always knew that. "
              My grandmother also had issues with her mother, who left her as a child. She also has had, and will probably have more, issues with my mother, who has taken advantage of her at every given chance. When she talks about watching my mother destroy our family, she gets tears in her eyes. Her love for my brother and me is so clear, that I cannot believe it took me so long to see it. At seventy-three years old, she has just learned to deal with her emotions entangled in these issues, and when she looks at me, she is able to recognize where I am at, and understands. There is nothing more important in the world than to have someone who understands.
              The things she has done for me have changed my life forever, even if I am just starting to comprehend them today. She kept me from opening the kitchen cabinets to empty shelves, and enabled me to buy new school supplies each year. She gave me a chance to become less angry, and stood by me as I grew to understand myself. She was at every single theatre performance, band concert, and cheered in the stands when my name was announced at graduation. She has become so much more to me than a grandmother; she has truly morphed into all that I ever really needed - an advocate, a guardian angel, a mother.
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