Where I’m From

“If you don’t know where you’re from, you’ll have a hard time saying where you’re going.” – Wendell Berry

I am from the white-washed columns and brick, dogwoods and snow. I’m from plate-glass and swimming pools. endless summers and sun.

I am from appliances of avocado-green.

I am from roses and geranimums, agapanthus, and petunias. Weed pulling and dirt-under-my-fingernails cranky.

From peanut-butter-and-honey (not jelly!) From black olives and Best Foods. From pumpkin and apple and crust-made-from-scratch. From slow food and princess cakes. From cloth napkins and company-silver.

I am from sit-like-a-lady, no elbows-on-the-table, and praying before meals. I’m from Velma and Bernice, Harley and Ben. From Robinson and Harrison and Stone.

I’m from Robert and Thomas and James.

From the appearance of perfect and ironed-Sunday-gloves. From sacrifice and saving, From margarine, and Betty Crocker.

From waste-not-want-not to hands bruised by boot straps. From fairies and fantasy. Imagination and story. I’m from Silver Spurs and the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus is real. I’m from doing to others as I would have done to me.

I am from thousands of miles for religious freedom. From a handshake and restoration. From believers and revolutionaries. From warriors and patriots.

I’m from M.A.S.H. and Evening Magazine. From after-school specials and TV dinners. From Who’s the Boss and Magnum and Moonlighting. From the Cosby Show and Family Ties.

From wagon trains and the frontier-wild. I’m from breaking new ground and seeking new spaces. I’m from Salem and Bristol and Plymoouth. From the hills of Tennessee to the plains of Texas.

I’m from a dim hallway of silver frames and strangers who share my hair, my chin, my smile. Their eyes still watching over, at all they’ve left behind.

I am from them.

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