My mom comes from a family with good manners. Her father was a mailman and her mother was a seamstress. So as a young girl, my mom was always dressed with the most beautiful clothes in the town.
My grandmother's family was not so good. Her father was a drunk. She was unmarriageable. Later, she married my grand father, who was short-tempered. Becsuse of her bad experience in her childhood, she was determined to be a good mother and build a warm family. She was strict with her children and wanted others show respect to her children that she didn't received in her childhood. Every morning, she would spend a lot of time choosing which color of shoes to match the dress.
Brought up in such family, my mother was a bit rebellious. She worked as a waitress in a restaurant, where she met my father. At first sight, my mom could tell my father was different other guys. Although never told about the relation between my father and my grandparents, I knew that it was not so good, because he seldom visited my grandparents. Even though he visited them, he never talked and always stared at the door. And I knew little about my aunt and uncle on my mother's side.
There was only one photo of my father when he got married. The man in the photo was quiet from the man I know today. The man in the photo was smiling with sunshine. The man I know today was moody. But for my brothers, the man in the photo was more familiar to them. It was not until I went college that I knew that my father suffered from a mental illness.
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