A criminal is living with me, cooking me dinner, and caring for me; I was apprehensive. One of the most influential events in my life was when my mom went to jail. During the summer of 2010 in Colorado, she spent around eight months in jail. My parents informed me over a Sunday breakfast. My mom and I exchanged letters, because we never really had the chance to talk over phone. Unfortunately I couldn’t visit since she was so far away.
It was just another Sunday morning, or at least I thought. I woke up to the sun shining in my eyes. As I got ready in the morning I heard noises of others downstairs. There was a lingering stench of burnt bacon in the air. As I walked down the staircase I heard the voices of my parents and sister. I walked out of the hallway into the kitchen/dining area. All eyes fell upon my for a brief moment; soon after my dad told me that the family was going to eat a Sunday brunch together. In my mind I knew that something was off. On a normal sunday, both of my parents would sleep in and we would not have a big breakfast. I anticipated that something was going to happen, and was I correct. During the brunch nobody said a word. However, near the end of the meal, my dad announced what was going on. He told me and my sister that our mom committed a crime, and was sentenced to jail for eight months. Hearing this was like a
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Was she a criminal? How did this affect me? Eight months away from my mom scared me to death. I had never been away from my mom for more than a week at a time. Plus I would have to live with the fact that my own mom was a criminal. A criminal living with me, cooking me dinner, and caring for me. My emotions were bouncing of off the charts. I could not stop thinking about the words that came out of my dad’s mouth, “Your mother had done something that was inexcusable. She broke the law, and as ruled by court, she has to serve eight months in