NYC-Feature Story

Connections that Matter

Mom Knows Me Best

By Annmarie Turton

Waking me up for school each morning has to be the hardest thing my mother’s done since actually giving birth to me. She’ll say, “Ann, it’s time to get up. Rise and shine, darling.” (Ugh! I hate it when she calls me that.) “Annmarie, I know you hear me.”

“Mom, give me two more minutes. I’m saying my prayers,” I’ll mumble back, while lying motionless in bed. All the while, I’m using those two minutes—plus an added few—to make up for the sleep I didn’t get the night before. After coming in about six or seven times more to gently nudge me, my mom tends to get forceful.

One morning after calling me almost 12 times in a row she got fed up, grabbed a container of butter, and dropped it on my head. I didn’t realize what had hit me until I propped open my eyelids to get a good look at it. I was so mad I flung myself out of bed and landed with a thud on my bedroom floor.

“See,” she said, laughing heartily, “that’s good for you. That’s your punishment.”

Onto Me Again

Though we have our occasional run-ins, my mom is like my best friend. She’s an understanding and patient person, loving and caring. She claims she knows me better than I know myself. Maybe she does. It would explain her ability to predict when I’m lying—even when I’ve put on my best face.

Recently I got the flu and had to take some disgusting cough medicine. I took it for a while, but one day when she was at work I decided not to take it. Before my mom came home, I moved the bottle from the table to the counter and rinsed the medicine cup out to make it look like I’d taken a dose.

It didn’t work. When she came home, I didn’t get a “hello” or even a “how are you?” As soon as she came through the front door, she asked, “Did you take the cough medicine?”

“Yes, I took the medicine,” I grumbled.

“When?” she demanded.

“This morning at—”

“Don’t even try it. I took one look at you and knew you didn’t take it,” she said, cutting me off. “I heard you coughing before you opened the front door. There you go with that nasty cough again. Woof, woof. That’s what you sound like, a dog. You’re only harming yourself, you know.” I couldn’t believe she was onto me once again.

A Supernatural Connection

Even though she annoys me, I don’t know where I’d be without her. We are so in tune with each other that we finish each other’s sentences, or I might say something she was thinking, and vice versa. For example, we were recently watching a TV show and I commented on the actress’s horrible dress. My mom said, “I was going to say the exact same thing! You just beat me to it. Girl, you’re too good.” We laughed together.

Our supernatural connection can be a pain at times, but her presence in my life is very important to me. She’s always in my corner, during my most lovable and unlovable moments. Because of her constant support, my outlook on life is positive.

She always tells me, “One day you’re going to thank me. Not today. Not tomorrow, but some day. You’ll say, ‘Thank God for a mother like mine’ and I’ll just sit back and say I told you so.”

And she’s right. Now, I find myself saying exactly that. Thanks for everything, Mom!

Saved From Solitude: A teacher took the the time to know me

By Anonymous

My home life was in shambles. The truth was it always had been. I had been kicked and stepped on, literally beaten down to the ground for years. I hid my abuse behind the facade of a stoic personality, but inside I was dying to be loved. I never told anyone because I thought that no one would ever understand. That was, until I met Ms. Lombardo, my 5th grade teacher, who reached out to me and helped me break the silence of my suffering.


	Reading and summarizing lesson

Ms. Lombardo looked more like a high school student than a teacher. She was young and wore Linkin Park and Evanescence t-shirts that reflected her love of rock music. Although she didn’t look like a typical teacher, she demanded respect and because the students loved her they gave it to her gladly.

A Human Connection

Ms. Lombardo took the time to get to know me. She would talk to me about the books I was reading to connect with me. I gradually began to feel safe around her. I still don’t know how she was able to see the loneliness that so many before her had failed to notice, but I do know that she was determined to make it right. She was committed to being that one person in my life who I could rely on and confide in.

I talked to other kids from time to time, but I didn’t tell them much. I spent most of my time with Ms. Lombardo that year. Before school, during lunchtime, and after school, I would talk to her. She was always willing to listen and offer sympathy. I would tell her about some of the things that were going on at home—but I was vague and didn’t tell her everything. I hated my home, but I realized that I couldn’t reveal that there was abuse going on, or I would be taken from my mother’s custody and I didn’t know where I would end up.

Although talking to her didn’t change the course of events unfolding at home, it did help to know that I wasn’t completely alone in this world. In many ways, speaking to Ms. Lombardo for those few hours each day rescued me; it saved me from a life of solitude. She was the only human connection I had. For the first time in my life I had an actual person to relate to, rather than just a book or a TV show.

As the school year came to a close I was excited and scared at the same time. I wanted to move on to middle school, in hopes that life would have something better in store for me. But I was also haunted by the possibility of being alone again.

Crushed Hopes

My elementary school graduation was the first school event that my mother ever attended and I wanted desperately to make her proud. I thought that I might receive an academic award during the ceremony, which I hoped would fix everything. Maybe if my mother could see that I was succeeding in school and getting awards, she would see my potential. Maybe then she would stop thinking that I was a mistake who wouldn’t amount to anything.

But as the last name got called to come to the stage and it wasn’t mine, I was crushed. I felt like no force on earth could ever change my mother’s view of me.

When it was over, my mother found me in the crowd and I walked quietly beside her in shame. I guess the disappointed look on my face and my silence upset her. Before I knew it, I was being hit and pinched for “acting stupid.” She grabbed as much of my skin as she could to pinch me, but when people started turning to look, she pushed me as hard as she could away from her. I walked behind her with my head down the rest of the way home. When we were finally inside the house I went to bed and cried myself to sleep.

I’ll Never Forget

I was awakened later that day by the phone ringing. When I picked up the receiver, it was Ms. Lombardo. She had called to tell me that she was sorry I didn’t get an award and that she was still proud of me.

I started to cry. She understood me and my feelings, something no one else had cared to do. The world seemed a little better now. For the first time in my life I knew what being loved felt like, even if it was just for a brief moment.

Having someone believe in me gave me the courage to hold my head up high; it inspired me to rise from the conditions I was born into and to strive for something better.

Most teachers come into a student’s life for a year and then they’re gone; we often forget their faces and names. But I will never forget Ms. Lombardo. In a world and a family that often tell me that I can’t and I won’t, Christina Lombardo is the name and the face that come to mind when I say that I can and I will.

What Friends Are For

By Orubba Almansouri

Friendship is a small word but big in its meaning. We all know that it’s important, but we don’t usually realize the true value of friendship until we need someone to count on.

When I left Yemen to come to America I thought it would be a temporary stay. I expected I’d suffer because I was so far away from my friends in Yemen. Then I started going to school in New York, and I met a group of friends who made my life completely different. It’s been more than three years since then, and I can’t imagine being who I am without them.

I’m one of five girls in my family, and mirroring that, I’m one of five in my group of close friends. But while I don’t always feel that family members understand me and know what I’m going through, I always feel able to talk to my friends.

Opening Up

A friend is someone who won’t judge you no matter what you do or say. I love having people I can complain to without having to answer questions. They also encourage me. When I feel down, or hear upsetting talk of my family moving back to my country (I don’t want to go because I want to continue my education here), my brain scatters to different places. My friends realize what’s happening without me having to explain, and remind me of how far I’ve come and how far I can go. They tell me not to lose hope because the future remains unknown. After an hour with them I always feel better.

Though my friends come from my culture, we don’t share the same views on everything. We disagree on simple things; for example, I love spending time playing with kids, but some of my friends can’t stand children.

Despite our differences, we understand each other. Whenever I have a choice to make, I go to them because I know they will help me see sides of the issue that I missed and help me figure out what’s best for me.

My friends have even brought out new sides of my personality. I’m generally not very open with my feelings, but with them I don’t have a choice: They magically make the words flow from my mouth. I think it’s because I feel at ease when I’m with them. Being around them, I’ve discovered the joy of talking, giving my opinion, and not being shy. I’ve grown more confident.

True Comfort

Now I thank Allah for giving me the chance to build the friendships I have today. It’s hard to write about my friends without smiling because their faces, and the great times we’ve spent together, all pop into my head. I think of the time we went ice skating and ended up laughing more than actually skating, or of the day we chased each other around the playground near my house with slippers in our hands, or of the Halloween pranks we’ve pulled.

These are memories I treasure. Moving to the U.S. at age 14 was doubly difficult: I was away from my home country, and as a teenager I was just growing to understand the world and experience more inner conflict. This made my need for friends to count on much greater.

So while coming to America taught me many things, the most valuable lesson, one I will never forget, is the true meaning and value of friendship. Having someone who’s there for you when you need them, someone in whose arms you are not afraid to cry and spill out what’s in your heart, is a feeling words are too weak to describe. My friends are a true comfort to me, and without them life wouldn’t have the same meaning.

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