Dust flew in wisps around his feet as he stood at the edge of the rocky peak. He stared down into the deep valley below the mountain, fury gripping him in tight bonds. The smooth features of his face were taut, frozen in a grim snarl.
“Not now. Not here!” He focused on the small figures far below. They scurried like ants around a small, newly forming building with a symbol perched on its sharply peaked roof. A symbol he recognized. A symbol he did not want to believe was in his village. Continue reading →
This is a series of vignettes that make up the larger piece that is Papa and Me. I wrote this a little while ago, and I had it posted on another blog, so I thought I’d move it here. It should also be said that this piece won me the Grand Prize from Bergen Community College for Creative Non-Fiction, an honor I dedicate specifically to my Papa, Joyce Wensel Schmidthuber.
Papa and Me
To say that my start was a rocky one might be an understatement. My parents were married young and I came into a family of alcoholics and addicts. Inevitably, the relationship went downhill and my mother called home to her parents for a way out. They bought us a plane ticket, and put us on a plane home when I was only six months old. Now of course I don’t remember any of this, but my mom tells me that the flight went well and that I wasn’t fussy on the plane at all. An older man sat next to my mom and I on the longer of the two flights and when she was given her meal, he held me and kept me entertained while she ate. It’s funny to me now, but my mom seems to remember that the man looked exactly like an actor that was in a Norelco Shaving commercial. She said she wanted to ask him, but never did. She’s been curious ever since. Continue reading →