This is a collection of short free writes that I began in workshop this week. The idea, is to trigger memories that cannot be influenced by common T.V. images or cliche's that weaken your work.
My dad was the bald one, mom told me. I had a broken arm but he didn't care.
We met at the Audubon Aquarium of the Americas in New Orleans, just two hours from my home, after my third birthday.
"Where's my dad?" I would ask my mom "everybody else has one."
I remember the room with the birds, and seeing the eagle, but all I remember about my dad, that first day, is that he was the bald one.
There is a picture somewhere, hidden between the text of a story, or tucked behind a picture in a frame, of my dad's bald head and my pink cast, waving at the bird charmer.