A child’s journey toward acceptance.

Written by Aria Nguyen

Sitting on Grandma Debbie’s black leather reclining chair, my little feet barely touching the matching footstool, I turned on the TV in the living room.

Engaged with the people moving on the screen, I took the home phone Grandma was trying to hand to me. It’s Dad.

“I love you,” he said.

I tried asking him if I could stay at his house over the weekend, as my parents had separated. I could barely get a word in before I heard the eerie sound of the dial tone.

These were the last words I ever heard my father say to me before his passing.

No one could begin to comprehend the sudden death of my father — so my 4-year-old self couldn’t understand either — and surely no adult could prepare me for the life of challenges I would experience in the future.

Soon after my father’s death, Grandpa, who Mom and I were living with at the time, died of cancer. At just 25 years old, Mom lost both a co-parent and her father.

These back-to-back deaths left my family struggling financially and on the brink of losing our family home. The home Grandpa spent years remodeling so his children, and grandchildren, could come and go as they pleased would no longer be ours. To pay the mortgage, Mom worked three jobs. Not only was she a single mother paying all the bills, but she was also a student at Bellingham Technical College.

A child herself dealing with heavy burdens.

For many kids, being left with one parent is common.

Of 130 countries and territories surveyed by the Pew Research Center in 2019, the United States had the highest rate of children living with single parents. About 25% of U.S. children under the age of 18 live with one parent, compared to 7% of other children around the world.

Single parenting is common, yet perspectives on single parenting, especially single mothers, are generally negative. In a 2022 survey conducted by the Pew Research Center about 47% of U.S. adults who participated said that women raising children alone were bad for society.

Common stereotypes surrounding single mothers include the idea that they are “lazy, irresponsible, dependent, deviant, and, above all, living off the hard work of others,” according to Ruth Sidel in the book “Unsung Heroines: Single Mothers and the American Dream.” Children of single parents are more likely to have difficulties in school while also having cognitive or behavioral issues, Sidel writes.

These ideas have permeated our culture left kids like me wondering where we fit in the world. For me, I felt shameful.

The park, while fun for most children, brought discouraging thoughts to my young mind. Kicking woodchips around the playground I would glance around at the many families there. Moms and dads, grandmas and grandpas pushing other children on the swings, laughing and smiling.

They were making new memories, while my dad, for me, was frozen in time. No new pictures, no new videos — each day I was getting older while he stayed the same.

Many years ago, I caught the end of a conversation between Mom and Grandma:

“It’s hard seeing all the dads and grandpas there, knowing we can’t give her that,” Grandma said.

I remember sitting at the dinner table — meeting my new friend’s family for the first time. We were in middle school and had waited all year to have a sleepover. My friend’s parents started a conversation by asking about my family and myself.

A dreaded topic.

Not only did I despise talking about myself, like most shy people do, but I also hated having to explain the complexities of my family dynamics. My friend’s mother asked about what my parents did, so I proceeded to tell her that my mom was a Licensed Practical Nurse, praying they would take the hint. To my demise, even after I avoided discussing my father, she proceeded to ask what he did for a living.

After some painfully awkward silence, I would have to say, “Well…he passed,” followed by a synchronized “Awwwwwwww!”

My ears got hot — I needed no mirror to know my face was flushed with embarrassment from the saddened looks and tilted heads.

These unintentional biases made me believe that I was broken, damaged and missing something I could never get back.

It wasn’t until I started applying to colleges that I began to realize that Mom and the other women in my family set their grief aside to give me the best life possible. My family was not “traditional,” but there were other people out there who lived very similar lives.

The admissions essay prompt asked me about some challenges I had overcome. Instantly I thought about my childhood, full of grief, loss and confusion. “How did I get through that period?” I asked myself, and that’s when I knew it was all through the help of my family.

My dedication, work ethic and ability to adapt to new situations came from watching the people around me struggle and get back up as well. Mom was not lazy, contrary to what studies said about single mothers and their characteristics, and my family was not broken.

Our financial burdens and the high cost of childcare meant I would live life a little differently than many of my friends, but that was okay.

I woke up every morning wondering which relative I would be staying with. The two people who I stayed with most were Grandma Debbie and Auntie Monica. This was the beginning of my relationship with kinship care.

Kinship care refers to the care of children by relatives or close family members. In general, there are two types of kinship care — informal and formal. Formal kinship care typically includes the involvement of welfare agencies while informal does not, according to the Child Welfare Information Gateway. In both cases, parents are said to have lost the ability and responsibility of taking care of their children, ultimately having the children removed from their homes, according to the same institution. In my case, I still lived with my mom but family members took part in my raising and provided me with some of my basic needs.

Living with, and being taken care of by a grandparent is fairly common in the United States as well. If children are living apart from their parents, they are among the most likely to be living with a grandparent according to the Pew Research Center in a 2013 report on children living with or being cared for by grandparents.

I did not, technically, live with my grandmother at the time but it certainly felt like it. It felt like I lived with a lot of people, being bounced around between available family members.

I remember grunting in the early morning, Mom peeling back the blankets and dragging me to the house of whoever would be watching me that day. Auntie, getting off work, would be greeted by Mom and I. She had no kids of her own so all I had to play with in the bath were cups and rags — much different than my preferred Polly Pockets and the famous Barbie — but this just became normal.

Kinship care and a life with one parent were just normal, and after all this time I can finally say that being not normal is normal.

There I was, applying to my dream college that I would later attend. Kinship care allowed me to build close relationships with my family which meant I had more people to love and cherish me.

Mom showed me that anything is possible — seeing her struggle and persevere has given me the strength to tackle any challenges that come my way. Auntie taught me independence — how to cook for myself when I moved out at the age of 20. And Grandma gave me the endless love and support I needed, always dropping what she was doing to answer my phone calls or just to make me breakfast per my request.

My favorite dish was, and always will be, her fried breakfast potatoes mixed with onions and bell peppers. The aroma floating in the air reminds me that I am loved and cared for by the best of people.

I recently started saving the voicemails from my family members, so I can listen to their voices once they are gone.

“Hey Aria, it’s Grandma. Just calling to check on you, honey. Love you. Bye!” she said, in a sweet and frantic voice. This is how most of her voicemails go. Hearing how loved I am puts a Band-Aid over all the wounds and trauma of my childhood.

There were challenges, in a house full of dominant personalities, life was never easy, and neither was sharing a bathroom, but everyone who played a part in my upbringing gave me the best pieces of themselves. The women in my life, no matter how big or small their contributions, provided me with the love and nurturing of 100 parents — which in turn has allowed me to become the young woman I am today.

It is important to highlight certain disadvantages that may become harmful to a child’s development so institutions can provide resources for families who may need help. It is equally important to highlight the way non-traditional families can still produce healthy and happy individuals.

Every family is different, but one form of family is not necessarily better or worse for a child.

Now, when I watch TV sitting on my own black leather reclining chairs, in my own home, I think back to all the women who helped me get here — and when I answer the phone it is usually them telling them how much they love me, just like Dad.