This post was originally published on my Substack.
In chipping away at my memoir, I’m reliving parts of my life that doesn’t exactly make me feel warm and fuzzy. From my soul-crushing days of working in Silicon Valley to my divorce to conjuring up weird childhood stuff, it’s both a reminder of what I’ve been through and how much I have to be grateful for. Writing it all down has been therapeutic, and also, I’m often surprised and delighted by my elephant-like memory.
Today I’m remembering the time my dad was shot in a robbery at our store. I was in seventh grade. I thought I’d share it today because this day is forever seared in my memory, like a branding iron marking a cattle’s rump.
Also, I started writing it as a prompt in last week’s Writing Class Radio group (a weekly writing group), but since we’re only given 30 minutes to write, I didn’t get to finish it.
So here it is, polished and ready for you to read, complete with a few old pics of my dad. (Frustratingly, I couldn’t find any photos of the store, but these are a few from that era.)
Read it on Substack, and subscribe to support my writing. I publish every Monday.