Tag: 2017 July Group Writing

Recommended by Ricochet Members Created with Sketch. Escaping Dangers

 

My mom was born in Phnom Penh, Cambodia but lived the first five years of her life in Chhloung, a small district on the Mekong in Kratié province. At the time, my grandfather worked as a manager of the Chhloung’s paper mill. Kratié is located in the northeast of the country and shares its southern border with Vietnam. Kratié had always been swamped with Vietnamese guerrillas, first the Viet Minh, later the Vietcong. By mid-1960s the Vietcong had put up their key bases all over Chhloung and its neighboring district Snuol. My family had never encountered them around that time, though they would have had their chance a little bit later in a much direr circumstance.

By mid-1970, the Khmer Rouge had moved into Kratié, and in Chhloung and Snuol in particular, life had become much more dangerous. By the end of that year, the entire workforce at the mill and their families had completely left, only my grandfather and a few management staff remained. My grandmother, a native of Kratié and who was pregnant with my aunt, Nimoul, at the time, also packed up and left with her younger sister, Sirun, my mom and my uncle, Meaneth, for her family home in Roka Kandal, a commune about nineteen miles north of Chhloung. Around early 1971, grandpa came to see the family. The situation at the mill had gotten even worse since the Khmer Rouge guerrillas had moved into the mill. Grandpa left the next morning. It would be awhile before they were reunited; upon arriving back at the mill, he and his coworkers/friends had to leave the mill. They were pursued by the Khmer Rouge guerrillas and had gotten lost in the jungle. It took them about a month, with help from villagers along the way, to reach Phnom Penh.

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Recommended by Ricochet Members Created with Sketch. My Family Shows Love Through Food

 
A portion of the food at my family’s Independence Day fish fry. Pretty standard meal.

My siblings and I have a food rating system where we rank food based on how much love is put into it. Most people wouldn’t understand, especially if food is not a Big Deal in family gatherings. You can actually taste the amount of love that someone puts into food they make. It’s why cakes and pies from the store are never as good as the ones you make at home; the person making them generally doesn’t care.

I’m from a sizable Southern family where the star of any family gathering is the delicious food. We don’t joke around with food. Everything is crafted with love and experience, from the dessert bar to the 3 main courses, to the 30 different sides.

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Recommended by Ricochet Members Created with Sketch. Member Post

 

I had an argument with my then step-mother when I was 12. I spent summers with her and my Father but lived most of the year with my Mother and stepfather. The latter family (more on this later) had just moved back from Okinawa to Marquette, Michigan, and I was describing to my stepmother the […]

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Recommended by Ricochet Members Created with Sketch. Member Post

 

“If you keep driving in circles, you’ll eventually get to where you’re going”. This is my motto as well as my problem. You see, the women in my family were born with broken radar. We zig when we should zag. It’s rampant and has caused countless problems. For example, it was a cold winter’s night….the […]

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Recommended by Ricochet Members Created with Sketch. I Always Sat on the Hump

 

Being the youngest kid sucks. “You’re too young; you’re too little; you don’t know how; you can’t do it, you can’t do it, you can’t do it.” And, of course, “You’re sitting in the middle.”

I’ve said before that I was the youngest of four brothers, two sets of two born a year apart, with three years in between. That’s four boys in six years; the oldest being five years older than me, the youngest. Most of the time we were divided into two groups, and I was just the younger of the younger group. But whenever we were together as a group, as a family, I was a the bottom of the heap. And although my two older brothers would occasionally include the third, that was usually just so they could exclude me.

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Recommended by Ricochet Members Created with Sketch. Member Post

 

Doug is the child of an alcoholic. He was born in 1940, and though both parents doted on him, his father was abusive toward his mother. They divorced, at a time when it was not common. Doug’s mother moved him from a tiny rural community to a much larger town. We have “stuffed” our feelings […]

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Recommended by Ricochet Members Created with Sketch. Member Post

 

William went mad the last ten years of his life. It started in 1582, the year his sixth son George was born. His wife stuck with him for another two years, including having two more children by him, but finally she took the children and went into hiding from Mad William. So, George grew up […]

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Member Post

 

This is going to be a short post. Quite short. Almost as spare as the number that makes up my immediate family. There are seven of us, and the more time goes on, the most dispersed we seven seem to become. Staying “close” can be a challenge. When my nephew enlisted in the Army right […]

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