Just for something different, I’m trying out a new writing exercise. This is from Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop.
Where I’m From
I am from big hair and Aqua Net, from Atari and grunge.
I am from the East End, playing “Chicken” on Dorey Street and riding my bike to the community pool in the summer. The Valley, where in high school I would moo at the cows and pass Amish buggies.
I am from the buttercups on the family farm, rubbing a bunch under my chin, the dandelion, blowing away the fluff and thinking of all the wishes that will never be.
I am from the generosity of Aunt Shirley and determination of my parents to always “know the best for us”.
I am from the long line of nomads, womanizers, and drunks on one side; farmers and churchy churchers on the other. And somewhere I’m in between.
From being told I talked funny and can’t see straight. Always being the last one chosen in gym because I was an uncoordinated klutz.
I am from a little white church on a dirty road. Vacation Bible School, church choir & being a Christian Clown. Now I barely remember my Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.
I’m from the country and the trailer park, Swanson dinners and McDonald’s.
From the station wagon (riding in the way-back) road trip vacations to relatives, the extra special vacation to the beach when we probably couldn’t afford it, and the one time in my life I had detention because I joined in a food fight.
I am from the pieces of our family tree. Census sheets, military records and cemetery headstones. A daughter of the American Revolution, the Civil War, the Spanish American War, WWII and Vietnam. Knowing that as I find out more about one side of the family that history will not repeat itself.