When I sat in my father's blue 2003 Ford Taurus at the age of fifteen, little did I know my life was to change forever. "Alright children, your mom and I have to speak with you about something important," exclaimed my father. My elder sister and I knew what was going to come next. I whispered under my tongue, "Please dad, do not say the word divorce!" I looked into the front passenger seat and saw tears running down my mother's face. My sister frantically couldn't stop shaking. Suddenly, I made eye contact with my father through the rear view mirror. The word that makes many children shudder when they are young was the word that next came out of my father's mouth. My parents attempted to explain to me how they could no longer live together. They tried to make things work, but they could no longer. They explained how in my Bosnian culture, the concept of divorce is frowned upon, but they were left with no choice. At that time, my heart began to beat rapidly. I thought I was prepared for what they had to say, but what came next was a rollercoaster ride that never seemed to end. .
During the next two years, I was given the responsibility of keeping my parents together for as long as I could. Through this and my cultural upbringing, I learned the value of being the only son and the associated responsibilities of being raised in the Bosnian culture, but more importantly, the ability to face adversity and how to overcome it. My parents ultimately filed for divorce, but I kept working diligently trying to keep them living under the same roof. Meanwhile, seeing the struggle of my parents when they came to America eighteen years ago, I knew I had to stay focused in school for a better livelihood not only for myself, but also my parents. It was my duty to take care of them. While the rest of my classmates were planning for prom, I visited my community mosque to pray for my family's well-being.
