Memories

Lately I have found myself thinking about the past. It is unsurprising considering the changes coming my way. A little over sixteen years of formal education is coming to an end. I am finishing a major part of my life, and stepping into the beginnings of the middle part of a still forming trilogy. This ending makes me think about the past in a way I typically avoid for a number of reasons. The daughter of a two immigrants, life was not easy. My parents came to the United States when they were relatively young.

       My mother came when she was in high school and my father when he was in college. They struggled individually and together. My mother was a single mother raising a daughter and working hard to complete her education. My father worked as a taxi driver to pay his living expenses and his tuition.

They had me while they were still working on building their lives. One of my earliest memories is of doing my homework in the halls of York College as my parents traded off checking on my sister and me. We were living in a single bedroom apartment in Jamaica, Queens. Life was hard and there were obvious signs of struggle. But my parents did what it took to get their respective degrees. Their dedication to building a better future motivates me every day.

       When I was 9 years old my mother and father separated. They no longer wanted to be together. This fracture was due to a number of reasons. The divorce impacted me, especially since we moved to South Carolina soon after. It was jarring to lose everything I was familiar with in what seemed like a blink of the eye.

       While my parents were no longer together. They were still a part of my life. One was just there in a more limited role. My mother took on two titles, “Mommy” and “Daddy”. She was the disciplinarian, the provider, and the teacher. Marie was not one to allow her children to wallow in their feelings. She pushed us to adjust, and to flourish in our new environment like we had in our old.

       Education had always been a focus in our home. My father respects knowledge above all else and is willing to engage in a debate on just about anything a person can think of. My mother values grades and GPA like some women value a new pair of red bottom shoes. There were times when my parents were the bane of my very existence because there was no chill in their vigor to sculpt us into better and bigger versions of themselves. Their dream was for their children to reach bigger heights and climb higher mountains.

       Some children would be resentful of the constant push. Wish that they had a moment to decide for themselves, whether they wanted to follow the path set for them. And there were times when I did wish I could even entertain the idea of taking a different, perhaps harder path. But coming from a place of complete honesty, I would not change most of the things in my life now. Every push they gave me. Every stumble I made. The people I have impressed, and the people who would love to see me fail, have all helped to shape me into the version of myself that I am now.

       I am far from complete. I certainly do not have everything figured out, but I am in a position where I can stand on my own. The dreams my parents had for me is being fulfilled. I am moving into this place where I know a few things for certain.

       I am a capable young woman with the ability to rise to any occasion. The goals I have set are not unachievable. And my parents, for all their faults, are my loudest cheering section.

Jen A. Durand

Author of The Secrets, Lies, and Betrayal Series and The Virgins Club, www.Durandpublishing.net

Completed Works

The Secrets, Lies, and Betrayal Series:

Wintr’s Homecoming:

Secrets

Jaguar Nights:

Lies

Pearl Moon:

Betrayal

Shadowy Lights

Fear

The Virgins Club:

The Planner

The Fixer