Get your own Free Home PageWelcome to my autobiography. This page is still under construction. You may be interested in reading my poems about me for a summary of some aspects of my personality. General facts are at my resume. What I want (a sure measure of anyone) is at my wish list. This page, on the other hand, is for autobiography. Such as:
My name is Amarantha Françoise Dyuaaxchs (pronunciation guide here). I was born in Lafayette, Indiana to Harold (Herald angel) Edward and Karen (Charon, moon of Pluto) Kay Dyck on May 3. I am currently 857 battlescars old. My first nickname comes from when Mom found out I was female (I was two seconds old), and exclaimed "It's an Amy!" My second nickname comes from my eyes. I'm a "Hazelnut."
Two weeks later, my parents moved to another mobile home park. Three weeks later, we moved to an appartment in Chicago. Three weeks later, we moved to another appartment, and six weeks after that, I was living in Oak Park, Illinois, in a white house with gooseberry bushes in the back yard. We stopped moving so constantly for a little under a year, then moved to Italy for about the same amount of time.
There, my sister took birth from my mother. April 14, three weeks before we went home to America, Jenny took her first breath. My parents then required two witnesses to prove that Harold was the father so Jenny wouldn't be an Italian citizen. How they were supposed to know . . .
Back at the house in Oak Park, we celebrated my third birthday late because of the move. I got a geodesic dome and briefly turned into a monkey. My sister and I also got a set of mother and child koalas. I named the mother Qeeley. For the next few years, my favorite joke was to make people try to spell her name, and I wanted to live in Australia when I grew up.
Shortly before I turned four, when Jenny was already one, our parents left us alone with a babysitter to go to a party a couple of hours away. I was playing in the sun room, which had large windows and glass doors with a lock on them. Jenny discovered how to manuever the lock. When I wanted out, I discovered that the door would not open. I knocked to try to get the babysitter's attention. She didn't hear me, so I knocked louder and with more force until I put my arm through the window. Of course, I screamed. That got her attention. I remember blood, and pink muscles, and white bone, and the skin flapping in the water pouring from the kitchen faucet as she desperately tried to wash it out. The baby-sitter panicked (she seemed old at the time, but I think she was only thirteen or fifteen), and she called her aunt, who took me to the hospital. The hospital was helpless to do anything but stop the blood flow without my parent's permission, not even give me medicine to ease the pain. They hadn't been on the road for an hour by that time. When they reached the party, the hostess met them at the door.
"Do you know where your daughters are?" she asked them. They, of course, answered that we were at home. The hostess told them that no, everyone was at the hospital because the eldest daughter had put a gash all the way down her arm, and the hospital couldn't do anything about it. Mom and Dad immediately turned back around to go give permission. Then the insurance insisted I had to go to a different hospital for treatment. By this time, hours after I should have been treated, my wound was badly infected with all the glass imbedded in it. Dad promised me a marshmallow before they put me to sleep. When I woke up, it was almost midnight. Mom told me the story of Cinderella, in the long version, and when I still couldn't sleep, told me that if I wasn't asleep at midnight, I would turn into a pumpkin. I believed that for years. I was able to go home the next day, my arm in a cast and a blue sling. I still have the sling. It is very tiny.
Eight years later, I remembered Dad's promise. Two years after that, Dad gave me the marshmallow. This is the longest standing family joke.
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