Where I'm From

This came from a blog I stumbled across. It's an interesting writing exercise based on a poem. Here's my exercise. I wish I could pipe in the song Country Roads by John Denver as background, but you get the picture.

I am from snack cakes from Little Debbie and coffee cups filled with half coffee and half milk.

I am from government quarters, uniform, boring, always offering the hope of a new, exciting life with white-walls smelling at first like the cleaners the previous families used before they moved out and on to their next post.

I am from the azaleas, magnolias and ramps bursting forth in spring in fuchsia, creamy waxy whites and shocks of green.

I am from the home where windows were painted with holiday images, gifts were opened Christmas Eve and Santa came Christmas morning, camping trips in the summer taking the Nestle plunge, roasting marshmallows, fishing, listening to crickets and the crackle of the fire and from obstinate souls with dark secrets and pains from Roes and Williams.

I am from the matriarchal clutch of women who worry and meddle and the patriarchal pride of men who drink and fish and smell of Camels and Old Spice.

From the world where for years I was the only grandchild who waited until the last grandparent entered the hospital before being born.

I am from holiday churchgoers who’ve since “become” Christians who don’t need a church and seek guidance and comfort from TV evangelists.

I'm from West Virginia blue-collar workers who built roads, made chemicals, fought wars and survived, from Watergate salads and amazing cheeseburgers and spaghetti with cumin and peanut butter pies.

From the Reese’s Peanut butter cups from the VFW, Delta Dawn on the jukebox and the smell of stale beer, the uncle who “lost” his arm in a couch and the family dog that recognized the war hero come home.

I am from boxes and albums filled with old images, attics that held unknown wonders, elm trees that cradled me in their arms and fields and creeks that were the boundaries of my summers.