Our Souls
You can't outrun these roots
Portland, Oregon to Charming, California.
9 hours and 2 minutes.
594 miles.
Charming, California.
The place where I was born. The place where I spent ten years of my life. The place where my whole family originated from. My roots were there and they always would be. No matter what. It didn't matter where I went or who I went with or how fast I got there, my roots were in Charming. And nobody can outrun their roots.
Welcome to Charming!
My mother had never been one of those over the top, loving mothers. She told you she loved you, once in a blue moon. She didn't hug you. She didn't call you when she heard sirens. She didn't show her emotions. But as soon as I told her I was moving and to where, she flew off the handle. She screamed. She cried. She talked calmly. And then she screamed again.
When I was ten years old, she packed up our essentials and we hopped in the station wagon and took off. We went as far as money would allow and ended up in Portland. It didn't take long for my brother to bail and leave me behind. He left to go live with our dad. That was in 1994. That was the last time I saw or spoke to him. I tried to call, but didn't get an answer. I wrote letters, but never got one back. By the time I had turned eleven, I realized he didn't care about me. I realized that him and my dad didn't want anything to do with me anymore. I was nothing to them.
I believed that for seventeen years. Up until I was helping my mom move, that is.
There were stacks of birthday cards, Christmas cards, Christmas presents, etc. and they all said To: Olive Oil From: Dad & Opie. Then there was the stack of letters I had written them. Every. Single. One. My mom had never sent them. She let me believe for seventeen years, that my own flesh and blood didn't love me anymore. That they disowned me. But they didn't. They loved me and they didn't disown me. My dad and my big brother still loved me.
That was the straw that broke the camels back.
I packed up my essentials, hooked a trailer to the back of my Jeep and secured my bike on it, and left, never once looking back.
My roots caught up to me and pulled me back in.
9 hours and 2 minutes.
594 miles.
Charming, California.
The place where I was born. The place where I spent ten years of my life. The place where my whole family originated from. My roots were there and they always would be. No matter what. It didn't matter where I went or who I went with or how fast I got there, my roots were in Charming. And nobody can outrun their roots.
Welcome to Charming!
...
My mother had never been one of those over the top, loving mothers. She told you she loved you, once in a blue moon. She didn't hug you. She didn't call you when she heard sirens. She didn't show her emotions. But as soon as I told her I was moving and to where, she flew off the handle. She screamed. She cried. She talked calmly. And then she screamed again.
When I was ten years old, she packed up our essentials and we hopped in the station wagon and took off. We went as far as money would allow and ended up in Portland. It didn't take long for my brother to bail and leave me behind. He left to go live with our dad. That was in 1994. That was the last time I saw or spoke to him. I tried to call, but didn't get an answer. I wrote letters, but never got one back. By the time I had turned eleven, I realized he didn't care about me. I realized that him and my dad didn't want anything to do with me anymore. I was nothing to them.
I believed that for seventeen years. Up until I was helping my mom move, that is.
There were stacks of birthday cards, Christmas cards, Christmas presents, etc. and they all said To: Olive Oil From: Dad & Opie. Then there was the stack of letters I had written them. Every. Single. One. My mom had never sent them. She let me believe for seventeen years, that my own flesh and blood didn't love me anymore. That they disowned me. But they didn't. They loved me and they didn't disown me. My dad and my big brother still loved me.
That was the straw that broke the camels back.
I packed up my essentials, hooked a trailer to the back of my Jeep and secured my bike on it, and left, never once looking back.
My roots caught up to me and pulled me back in.
