I Am From...

Most of my sentences start with "I". Don't yours?

I is your seat in the house for viewing your own life:

front row, center.

Today my front row, center is jumping on a band wagon.

Someone I know in real life and in the blogging world made me aware of this band wagon when she posted her self-penned, autobiographical poem called I Am From...

I Am From...is a worldwide writing prompt set in motion by George Ella Lyon. The idea is to consider the people, places, things that helped shape you and put them in poetic form. I couldn't resist the invitation to jump on this wagon, especially with the license to start so many sentences with "I". This particular I Am From... is about a young me and the story stops short of the start of my adult life. There could be volumes of my I Am From... that remain to be written. But for now,


I Am From...

I am from a living room drawer overflowing with loose snapshots and Polaroids covered with grandchildren’s fingerprints. From pink shag carpet and a gingham canopy bed to match. I am from Holly Hobbie, Donny Osmond, Pooh Bear and Stretch Armstrong.

I am from the baby of the family, three big brothers, Boy Scout Camp, summer swim team and never being old enough to ride my bike to Colonel’s Market. I am from honeysuckle and tire swings. From fear of the basement, the pump house and the upstairs alone.

I am from red hair, glasses and late blooming. I am from carpenter’s dreams.

I am from vacation bible school at the big church in town. I am from memorized verses and all the Books and a prize trip to Opryland. I am from organized religion, dismantled for me to see what’s underneath the pulpit and the dogma. I am from God is, underneath it all.

I am from the woodwinds, a reed softening in my mouth, right thumb calloused by a pad worn thin.

I am from three grandparents I never really knew and one who was all a grandmother ought to be. I am from wagon wheel, canasta, and hearts, find the thimble, and Apples of Gold. I am from homemade vegetable soup where potatoes might be turnips. I am from no aunts, no uncles, no first cousins, from the extended family that stopped short.

I am from having it all, moved through where did it all go and arrived at we didn’t really need it anyway.

I am from silly songs, family jokes, spoons magically hanging from noses and everybody talking at once. And from laughter too.

I am from parents volunteering, chaperoning, speaking out at meetings, calling teachers and superintendents, chairing committees and running PTAs.

I am from the curves and dips of the old road to Townsend. I am from the rope swing and Body on Tap rinsed clean in Great Smoky mountain river water. I am from Marlboro smoke twirling out the window of my best friend’s Triumph rolling home back down the old road.

I am from parents who held on to the rails and each other during the inevitable rocky parts of married family life. I am from work it out until it can’t be worked out. I am from commitment, loyalty, forgiveness. I am from a love so deep and insistent that it is too overwhelming to explain.

I am from these things I wouldn't change.

So where are you from?