My Family History

Paper Rating: Word Count: 710 Approx Pages: 3

Every year my family members usually come home together to have new year dinner. Especially last year, we celebrated for one family member (my brother) who just came to US from VN. Normally, after my father's statement, everybody started eating, talking and giving to each other all the best wishes for new year. I sat at the corner of the table and looked at every single family face. I mutely thanked God for he has given us the strength to pass all the difficulties. I suddenly remembered the day we just came to the US. With a big family, we had a lot of things to support: food, cloth, furniture, etc.. that is why we started to look for job right away. My father, the main worker in the family, found an assembly job but they paid him a little because he had no experience and he was old. Besides that, my brothers and I couldn't stay there and look. We also got some work to do even we didn't like the kind of work: dish washer, toilet cleaner, waiter or whatever. At that time, "work" had a meaning like "to survive" for my family. And that word is attached with the hold life of my ancester, my father, my mother and myself.

My ancestors were the hardest workers. They were born in wartime. So they had to face with the death by guns and bullets everyday. They also had to work to support the needs in family. At that time, husbandry was the most popular work to do. They tried to reach their own land to plant but it wasn't easy as they thought. The war destroyed everything but it did not make my ancestor given up. However, for their family and their own surviving, they just kept planting and hoped for the next harvest. Their belief really helped them in work and also gave them the hope, the strength for their children in future.

Coming after my ancestor, my father was also the great worker. Since the day his children were born, he had to work harder to feed them. He could do any kind of work like dresser, waiter, wheelwright, cobbling. He usua... Continue Reading