College, what a blast!

Multi-Genre Essay
The Kite Runner

The connection between child and parent is not one that is easily broken. It isn’t something that can be taken for granite. Just like the connection between between Amir and Baba.
Amir is always looking for something to make Baba proud of him. And no matter what Amir did Baba never really seemed to notice, unless it was something that interested Baba himself, something to do with physical greatness.
Like winning in the Kite tournament.
My essay is based on the relationship between parent and child, and how that connection can be strong, and almost codependent, or can be not there at all.
While Baba loved Amir, he was so ridden with guilt at what he had done, Baba broke the one law that he had actually believed in. He had not only stolen it from Amir, but also from Hassan and Ali. And that made him want to accept them both, though he could only accept Amir, the part of him that he would rather have traded for the athletic Hassan. Thus effecting the parenting skills he had, making him distant, and in a way unresponsive to Amir.
It is also about how a child often believes the best of a parent, even in the worse of circumstances. How they look up to, and in even earlier life, idolize, their parents. No matter if they are the most horrible, or the best parent in the world, a child loves them the same amount, as if they wre superman/woman, themselves.

Bob Carlisle – Butterfly Kisses
There’s two things I know for sure
She was sent here from heaven, and she’s Daddy’s little girl.
As I drop to my knees by her bed at night
She talks to Jesus and I close my eyes
And I thank God for all of the joy in my life, oh but most of all…

For butterfly kisses after bedtime prayer
Sticking little white flowers all up in her hair
Walk beside the pony Daddy, it’s my first ride
I know the cake looks funny Daddy, but I sure tried
Oh with all that I’ve done wrong, I must of done something right
To deserve a hug every morning, and butterfly kisses at night.

Sweet sixteen today
She’s looking like her Mama, a little more everyday.
One part woman, the other part girl
To perfume and makeup, from ribbons and curls.
Trying her wings out in a great big world, but I remember…

Butterfly kisses after bedtime prayer
Sticking little white flowers all up in her hair.
You know how much I love you Daddy, but if you don’t mind
I’m only gonna kiss you on the cheek this time.
With all that I’ve done wrong, I must of done something right
To deserve her love every morning, and butterfly kisses at night.

All the precious time, oh, like the wind the years go by.
Precious butterfly, spread your wings and fly.

She’ll change her name today, she’ll make a promise, and I’ll give her away.
Standing in the bridegroom just staring at her
She asks me what I’m thinking, and I said I’m not sure.
I just feel like I’m losing my baby girl, and she leaned over…

Gave me butterfly kisses with her Mama there
Sticking little white flowers all up in her hair.
Walk me down the aisle Daddy, it’s just about time.
Does my wedding gown look pretty Daddy? Daddy, don’t cry.
Oh, with all that I’ve done wrong, I must of done something right.

To deserve her love every morning, and butterfly kisses,
I couldn’t ask God for more, than this is what love is.
I know I gotta let her go, but I’ll always remember…
Every hug in the morning, and butterfly kisses

This song, to me, has always represented a father’s love. The kind of love that should come unconditionally, the kind that should be given freely, and never expecting something in return. And as a father, or a mother really, loves a child, a child loves that parent without question. Even when a child, such as Amir, isn’t shown the love as obviously as most, they still want the love and approval of that parent that they look up to so fervently.
Butterfly Kisses, is a song that has always meant a lot to me, because my father played it for me, and he wasn’t around as a grew up, but I still yearned for him to love me and be proud of me. Just like Amir wanted Baba to be proud of him.

The Amber Spyglass- Philip Pullman

‘… Then, at word from the woman, the golden monkey sprang on Lyra’s daemon, gripping him with hard black fingers. The daemon flipped from shape to shape more quickly than Ama had ever seen a daemon change before:cat-snake-rat-fox-bird-wolf-cheetah-lizard-polecat-
But the monkey’s grip never slackened; and then Pantalaimon became a porcupine.
The monkey screeched and let go. Three long quills were stuck shivering in his paw. Mrs. Coulter snarled and with her free hand slapped Lyra hard across the face, a vicious backhand crack that threw her flat; and before Lyra could gather her wits, the beaker was at her mouth, and she had to swallow or choke…
And the woman was singing softly, crooning baby songs, smoothing the hair of the girl’s brow, pating her hot face dry, humming songs to which even Ama could tell she didn’t know the words…
Eventually that stopped, and the woman did a curious thing: she took a pair of scissors and trimmed the girl’s hair, holding her sleeping head this way and that to see the best effect. She took one dark blond curl and put it in a little gold locket she had around her own neck. Ama could tell why, she was going to work some further magic with it. But the woman held it to her lips first… Oh, this was strange.’

Mrs. Coulter, who is Lyra’s mother, is definitely not the typical mother, in fact she’s not a very good mother at all. But she does love her little girl. She is hiding her in a cave from people who want to kill her. And later she will defend the girl against a man who strikes fear into the hearts of many. Lyra didn’t know it was her mother putting her into the coma like sleep, and when her friend revives her, she thinks her mother was afraid for her life because of the sleeping.
Showing that even though Lyra despises her mother for what she was doing to innocent children (cutting their Daemons (souls) from their bodies), she still wants to believe the best of her, to believe that she would protect her no matter what.

This is a picture of my mother, my brother, Briar, and me. It’s on our trip from North Dakota to Oregon. It is, in my opinion, a very happy photo of the three of us.
It’s been the three of us for most of my memory. My mom and dad got divorced when I was six years old. And while we’ve had our very rough times, I’ve always loved my mom, no matter what I’ve said in fits of anger.
But the person I’m writing about, isn’t one that’s in the photo, I’m writing about my dad, or papa, as I called him for the larger part of my life.
My dad was, by far, not the best parent. He was not nice at all. He hit my mom, my brother and I, and when I lived with him in North Dakota, he let my step-mom and sister, use me as their scapegoat and punching bag.
And yet, I cannot help but to yearn for a connection with him. I want him to love me, and to be proud of me. To tell me I’ve done a good job, that I’m doing better than he could have hoped.
I couldn’t begin to explain why I hope for this, I just know that I do. And that almost every kid I’ve ever met has hoped for, the approval of the person they seek it from most. And while teens are supposed to be rebellious and what-not, I’ve not met one yet that doesn’t want their parents to be proud of them.
I know that being around my father is not what I should do, in fact I should cut him from my life completely, but, as I am over caring, over trusting, I can’t, I just can’t.
I know many a person that would tell anyone who asked that I didn’t care what anyone thought about me, what anyone saw when they looked at me. They would tell other how I’m strong-willed, and set on accomplishing the goals I’ve set for myself, come hell or high water.
And if anyone had a problem with that, well they should buy an air conditioner and a boat, because I’m doing it with, or without, their permission. These people would tell you that while I don’t care what people think, I care what people do, I want to change the world, and I don’t need anyone’s permission, I’m bossy when it comes to manners, and I can be silent and shy, but I never need anyones acceptance.
Personally, I believe they’re delusional, because I always want someone to be proud of me. And I’m getting better at not wanting it from the wrong people.
So while I really do want that parental approval from my father, I think I cherish it more from my mother.
My mother, who is my protector, and who knows that I can do it, who has always encouraged me. I am fortunate to have one parent who loves me more than two could hope for. And that is a child-parent connection I would not soon sever.