About where we're going...

I have certain memories that are burned into my mind's eye.  Random memories.  So vivid they seem as if I just experienced them.  They aren't year book type memories either.  Huge life event memories.  Those memories, while I remember, are stored in another part of my head.  They aren't as vivid.  I often wonder why my most vivid memories are random. What it says about me.  My mind.  My nature.  I don't have an answer to that question.

I only have the memory.

Of climbing into the bench seat of my father's 1976 El Camino.  It was black, with a white stripe.  The house I grew up at had a split driveway.  My Mom's spot was toward the garage (a place that never sheltered one of my parents cars oddly enough) and front door.  My Dad parked to the left of that spot, on what was also a basketball court of sorts.  That was his spot, and he almost always backed into his place.  Our driveway was steep.  At least a 15% incline.  I think Dad backed into the spot because it made getting out easier.  He left for work before 6am, when it was dark, and driving out forward, vs. backing out made more sense. Or so I think. I should ask him.  

My point.  My memory.  Sliding into that El Camino that I would wreck on the first day of school in what was then, five years in the future.  Alone in the car waiting for my Dad.  To go where.  I don't recall. I only remember thinking about eternity. The concept of eternity.  Forever.  And how long forever was.  Tinged with my, at the time, innate fear of religion, I imagined an eternity in hell.  Something that would never end.  Never mind the fact that I was a 10 to 11 year old kid who had no reason to go hell.  In my black and white mind, I said fuck, or did something that more than likely was going to send me there.  And I was thinking about how long forever was on that long El Camino bench.  By myself.  On a driveway pad basketball court thing in Sand Springs, Oklahoma.

When I stop to think about time today.  Namely how fast time goes.  How it seems that just yesterday Boy #1 and/or  #2 was a toddler.  So sweet and innocent.  That my Mom still lived.  When I think about how it doesn't seem so long ago, yet seems like an eternity, that vivid memory of me in the El Camino rears its ugly head.  Feels me with the same out of control, near panic, I better flee, feeling in the pit of my stomach. Makes me want to hold up my hand and say STOP.  

Until I BLOG again...running to stand still.