Where I Am From

At the beach we looked for a writing exercise to warm up and settled on writing our own renditions of George Ella Lyon's Where I Am From. It was fun thinking of memories that shaped me in good ways and bad. I found it was easier to read than to write and I have been rewriting it for weeks. Today I stop and am posting it. Take a shot at it. My question is that if we never think about these things that shape us, do they go away?

Where I Am From

I am from a mom who is soft and warm,
who laughs, who paints and camps and bowls and still plays.
I am from a dad who drove a truck, and a motorcycle,
who hunted and fished and bowls and still plays.

I am from an army hospital,

a row house in the Haight district of San Francisco,
a breezeway connecting duplexes,

Moms chatting to each other hanging out the windows,
a long dark hallway to the glass front door with the mail slot and
a claw foot bathtub off the kitchen that

Dad once fell asleep and let overflow.

I am from kids playing games in the alley next to the street,
sneakily picking the old lady’s roses hoping she’d give us suckers

to stay away from her flowers.
And a parakeet that got loose and Mom climbed a fence to catch it.

I am from a suburban SJ street nestled

between orchards and progress,
played baseball in the street, ran barefoot in the cool grass,
tumbling, and somersaults and cartwheels trying to best our friends.
Played till the night began to fall,
knowing Mom’s call preceded a dreaded bath
and scrubbing that would surely come.
My neck& feet never clean enough, surely I was born that way.

I am from the orchards of Cupertino….
the rich black soil, the mustard in the spring followed by poppies,
then apples, peaches and apricots,

each with their own aroma each in their own season.
A bb gun to shoot the birds that pecked the fruit,
and the train that whistled from a long way off.
Where it came from and where it went the source of great

imaginings, however boring the truth really was.

I am from roses and black walnuts that stained your hands,
and the dog, Skipper that was a casual companion,
and the sweet peas growing on the side of the house,
and the gladiolus framing the lawn.
Garden parties with ancient white haired wrinkled folks
with alcohol on their breath,
the cot shed where we learned to cut apricots

with grownup knives onto large wooden trays,
worms had to be cut out with all their eggs and mess.
Perfect apricots we slipped quickly into our mouths,

savoring exotic sweetness.
When the trays stacked too high to reach,

they moved to the railroad car, then to the sulfur shed.
Grandpa sometimes let us ride.

I am from my grandma’s table who made great smelling pies ruined
by having to eat squash and zucchini and cooked spinach.
She insisted that all who sat at her table had to finish their vegetables
before dessert would be shared.
We stared her down and went without dessert.

I am from a few pets…. scraggily cats
one of them had kittens in the washing machine.
A dog named Tisbee who peed with excitement when petted,
even peed on… my boyfriend from down the street.
A sister who shared my love for purple …
purple checked bedspreads and a
mom who scrimped and saved to give us special things,
warm coats, shoes, clothes that fit.

I am from camping in the Sierra Nevada mountains
and finding my favorite fishing spot…
on a log across the river and learning to gut the fish
and frying them in cornmeal over the open fire.
Of spending 3 weeks backpacking dressed in boys pants, shirts, shoes
and the only one to play with was my sister.
not getting along was temporarily not an option.

I am from epic road trips driving on all sorts of highways
“I gotta go” and “are we there yet?”
With long rides in the car listening to my Dad singing
(of course you might not call it singing…
For none of us were blessed with voices that passed for singing) …
In his best gruff German voice…

“What is this, my son,
Vat is this,
Vat is this.
This is my top notcher that’s vat this is..
Top Notcher, Doodle do do.
That’s what we learned at the school”.

http://www.kididdles.com/lyrics/m019.html (A little different...)

Or

“Oh my darling,
Oh my darling,
Oh my daaaaarrrrllllllling Clemantine….
You are lost and gone forever,
Oh my darling, Clemantine”.

http://www.kididdles.com/lyrics/c012.html

Then when Dad stopped singing Diane and I would pick up with
the never ending song of our day, “Found a peanut”. http://www.kididdles.com/lyrics/f009.html
for hours and hours.
Girl scout camp and church camps
Gave us fresh but equally annoying car songs.

Seeing the Grand Canyon and the Painted Desert, Old Faithful,
And ghost towns, Ape caves, Oregon caves, Pinnacle caves.
Who needed Disney when the world around was so incredible?
Swimming in lakes and rivers and oceans with inner tubes
and getting sun burned but never caring how cold the water really was.
Of campfires and marshmellows and stars and outhouses.
and bats and rats and snakes all destined to be pets for a time at least.

I am from those teenage years that screamed rebellion songs
the war, protest songs, peace marches, demonstrations,

granny glasses, long straight hair,
and fear of growing up, and fear of not growing up.
It is always painful.

I am from faith and community, a community I once left behind,
but came back, gratefully and gracefully.
I am from a family who cares, who steps up when times are hard,
who loves in actions and lives their beliefs
and does not have to preach to teach.

I am from a young marriage, starry eyed

and full of love, committed forever…
but marriage, a two person sport without a team, game forfeit!
I am from motherhood and grand-motherhood – creating family
who make me richer and smarter and wiser and strong-er

and more peaceful and more courageous.

I am from hard knocks, from college, from working hard,
from 10Ks and marathons and bike rides ridden …. a day or a week,
mountains climbed and valleys navigated,

countries traveled and eyes opened,
passion to touch, children to clothe and feed,

medicines to buy, a world to save.

I am from modest beginnings and aspire to modest endings,
No better no worse… a life well lived, and blessed.