When I went back to school several years ago to get my education degree, we had an assignment (I don’t remember in what class) to write about where we were from (I also don’t remember the purpose). Nevertheless, here is the result. My parents, as only parents would do, have it framed and hanging on their dining room wall.
Where I’m From
I am from parents not ready,
to parents with open hearts.
I am from older brothers, who either
wanted to protect me or torment me.
I am from tractors, combines,
and wheat trucks heavy with their loads of grain.
From large gardens with their bounty of tomatoes,
lettuce, potatoes, and green beans which
seemed to take forever to snap-snap-snap.
I am from Sundays spent in Bible class and worship,
and hours spent playing tag in the churchyard,
coming home to a meal of roast beef, mashed potatoes
I am from hand-me-down clothes and
Holidays spent with extended family,
leaving sugar cookies and milk for Santa,
awakening in the morning to an orange in my stocking
(which in another life was my dad’s sock),
to a new shiny red tricycle with matching wagon.
I’m from summer birthdays celebrated with
grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and friends
with special cakes in decorated shapes made with loving
hands by my mother.
I am from strong Christian faith, good work ethic
and unconditional love.