Wednesday, November 16, 2005

The Alchera Project

The Alchera Project ( is a website that makes you think about the stuff you put in your blog/site. Once a month, the blogger chooses from one of several options for writing, then submits it. Since, I feel, my blog has grown stale from all the excitement happening elsewhere, I am going to participate. Here is this month's assignment:

"Free-write/Option No. Three: [ top ]
This month I'm going to be more specific with the free write option. Every now and then something will trigger a memory for me, one that I'd completely forgotten. Sometimes the trigger is a smell, a song or even just overhearing someone talking. Seeing as this happens to me a few times a month, at least, I hope it works like that for everyone else. If not, my apologies. Usually I remember something and then the next day I've completely forgotten about it again. So this month, if an old memory is triggered, try to write it down and then come back to it later, when you have the time, and free-write on it."

My memory happened this evening, after a long-delayed call to my biological father. His voice, after not hearing it for so long (almost a year) sent me spinning back to the 11 years he was in my life. He always moved around from place to place, so I vividly recalled a time where he had decided to just pack up and move from West Virginia to Colorado, on a whim it seemed. My sister and I were young, 9 and 7 years old, and had been forced to throw all of our precious childhood things into plastic bags. We were not allowed to tell anyone from school we were leaving until the very last minute. We had been up very late the night before the move, then got up early to go to school. Then, after the day ended, we were driving on to Colorado. We walked from the playground to the car. I opened the door and ordered my younger sister in, which she said no to. "Get in the car!" "No you get in!" began as grumpy orders and escalated to all out, full shrieking. After what seemed to be several minutes of this, my father jumped out, threw us in the car and drove off before the principle could walk over and see what was wrong. We sobbed hysterically, literally just wailed, for a half hour after we got in. I remember my father saying, "Aww, they are just a little stressed, they will get over it." to my (obvious to me now) pissed off mother. I am astonished now on just how callus he was, not caring about the affects all the moving caused, or the trauma to our psyches. disappeared when I was 11, and I never talked to him again until I was 28. And to this day, he is clueless about this incident, and in fact claims not to remember it at all.