I am from babydoll dresses and mini-backpacks, from Kid Sister and Lisa Frank, from frozen pizzas and Flavor Ice, from Electric Youth perfume and Avon and from playing Nintendo and watching The Cosby Show, TGIF and Beverly Hills 90210.
I am from Rayburn and Lafayette Streets, from Roberts Road and from Village Square, from white wicker front furniture and woven blankets and puke beige walls and boxes and packing tape and the echoes off the walls when it’s empty. I am from the asphalt, from wheels humming along the highway, from eleven schools in twelve years and always making new friends.
I am from pampas grass, whose blades never failed to slice my fingers, and oak trees and Palmettos rising stately in the air, waving their leaves as if fingers brushing the sky.
I am from opening one gift on Christmas Eve and road trips and squealing in at the last second on two wheels and laughing at bodily functions and turning up the radio loud and jamming out. I am from Sandra Jean and Nancy Carol and Carolyn Pauline, from Robert and Lynville and from someone who accepted me as if I was his own.
I am from the hard heads and obstinates, from the opinionated and boisterous and from the family nights of playing with friends while the parents laughter rang out from the kitchen.
From because I said so’s and someday you’ll learn and it needs to be fat free and you can’t wear makeup until you learn to wash your face.
I am from distant memories of Peace Be With You and sit, stand and kneel and rosaries and confession. I am from Sunday school and Children’s Church, from communion for everyone and youth groups and drums and electric guitars instead of choirs. I am from lazy Sundays and religion classes and skepticism brought upon by a logical mind and upper education.
I am from the foothills of the Tarheel state and the suburbs of Philadelphia and the flat lands of South Carolina. I am from Belguim and Germany and England and Scotland. I am from hamburger helper and spaghetti and coconut cake and sweet tea.
I am from rocks painted Carolina blue and the time I got stuck under a car while sledding and the time we ran out of gas and had to walk in the middle of nowhere and the time we ended up in an emergency shelter during a blizzard in Alabama and summers spent at my Grandparents, lazing about, riding four wheelers and watching TV and drinking Grandma’s sweet tea.
I am from faded photographs in Grandma’s albums and cedar chests with wedding dresses and baby clothes and gravestones with names of those we love but have not forgotten. I am from baby books and home movies that captured the most mundane but the happiest of times. I am from one family that split and went their own ways with memories converging and dividing and the connecting line always being me.
I saw this over at Ali’s site and knew I wanted to do it, though it presented quite a challenge with my military brat background. There’s a great template here if you’d like to participate. If you do, drop me a line so I can check it out. I always love reading things like this.