Prompt #1: I was born…
I was born first. My story was the most vivid; the most told; the loveliest; the easiest. I was a gift: easy to unwrap, well presented, just what was wanted.
Prompt #2: When I was five…
When I was five I had already amassed 3 years of memories. I started my record young, first remembering my brother at my mother’s breast, next my doll at my toddler chest. When I was 5 I was a mother for 3 years. My first memory is of wanting what she had; finding and seeing peace that existed only in that moment, only in memory. Now the rosy memory seems a lie. I want nothing of what she has.
Prompt #3: My mother’s father…
My mother’s father has no name. She can’t recall the name of the man who she belongs to biologically and the name my Granddaddy’s wife and sister used is a mystery. My mother’s fathers are nameless, they are titles: “my father” and “Daddy”. The first spoken as a statistic, the second with reverence.
Prompt #4: My dad…
My Dad is a pervert. My Dad is ill. My Dad is brilliant and creative. My Dad is embarrassing. My Dad is fun. My Dad causes both panic and comfort. My Dad is strong and weak. My Dad is Swedish. My Dad is strange. My Dad is tired. My Dad is not wholly loved by anyone.
LesBohemea 