I believe in perseverance. I believe in this because I’ve seen its etiology and its prognosis. Perseverance, in short, is the key to a future and a fuller present. I use it as my tool to obtain knowledge.
It takes a lot to go to school with my name. I ended freshman year with an AP test and plenty of honors credits. I was in Tae Kwon Do, I started soccer. There was no candle to burn. I believed that few of these things would ever assume value, if only on a résumé. However—just recently something showed me that one day, this effort will reimburse me.
My mom is the strongest woman I know. She was born in Pine Valley, Nevada into a family with interesting characteristics. Her mother suffered from Schizophrenia and her father was a genius in many ways most people don’t have the capacity to attain. He was a good man who gave my mother the morals she needed to fight her way through life.
Many stories with inexplicable value, lest a comical identity, came out of Pine Valley. Nonetheless, the main part of the story is that my mother herself made it out of Pine Valley to study to be a nurse. She used that career to broaden her horizon. She persevered and gained knowledge crucial to her life as a nurse and her soon-to-be life as a mother.
My mother would soon marry my father, a head-trauma survivor who fights personal battles daily. Constructing a life with my dad wasn’t easy for her, considering her two blond rugrats tearing up the home and because of who my father became after the accident. However my mom is perseverant and meticulous in every aspect. She works day after day to support this family. She does the bills; she cleans the house, she cooks the meals, she wears the pants.
I always appreciated my mother for her superhuman wits and invincible ambition, but never so much as after one Monday. I was at my last soccer game, the only game I invited my dad to come to and he forgot. I stayed for the Varsity game, during which I got a call from my dad who hung up before I could speak: RUDE. My mom called back, in tears, saying my brother was missing. We eventually located him, but the stress on my mom was horrendous. My brother in fact had told my dad where he would be—but my dad has no memory. She came to pick me up and on the car ride home she burst into tears, saying she couldn’t live if she’d lost a child. I drove past our turn and stopped the car so she could cry and turned around to get her some Carvel.
It is thus for my mother, for the work and effort that she has exerted to live her life for me, that I choose to believe in perseverance and knowledge. My mother is the reason I stand.
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