I am from the gray house with the red door that Rae and Jack built at the top of the hill on Morris Road. The house with the best view in the neighborhood, overlooking the creek and the skating pond, the woods and world beyond.
I am from the giant acorn-laden oak tree in the back that they said wouldn't make it, and tart rhubarb turned to sweet desserts that came back year after year. From the garden with fragrant flowers, some that were planted by me.
I am from telephones that actually dialed, from Little Kiddles, Easy Bake Ovens, and giant inflatable chairs with furry footprint stickers. And flower power and peace signs.
I am from golfers and card players, bowlers and cookie bakers, from Deckers and Shores and Nerisons. From a mom whose love smelled like something warm just out of the oven after a busy day at school, and a dad whose witty puns made us groan until we learned to make him groan right back. Groans with smiles.
From many cousins and aunts and uncles with boisterous voices and contagious laughter.
I am from the school of "If you want something done right you've gotta do it yourself", and "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." And also the school of hard knocks from protective older siblings who could harass me if they wanted, but woe unto anyone else who tried. Who eventually would help me find my way like no one else and be my inspiration.
From Lutherans and Jews and people left wondering, and some finding. From confirmation and the alto section, to youth group trips to the Boundary Waters and Young Life camp. From How Great Thou Art, and What A Friend We Have in Jesus. Boy, do we ever.
I'm from big Sunday dinners, with popcorn later for supper--in the metal popper with real oil and hot butter that still smelled amazing the next day--and Wide World of Sports and Wonderful World of Disney, after cheering for Fran Tarkenton and the Vikings on TV.
I'm from Minnesota, from Norwegians with lefse and Russians with matzo ball soup, and "Heinz 57s" because they couldn't quite identify all the varieties (although "slightly eccentric" was surely one). I'm from sliding down snow-covered hills, cold noses and warm cocoa, from summer swimming in the lake and from crisp, cool autumns with the smell of bonfires.
From Grandma Vi, who made turkey for the kids because they might not have acquired a taste for the roast duck, and who had a present for the younger sister because she might not understand why both twins were getting birthday presents, but not her. And from Grandma Shore, who always had a little extra pie crust with cinnamon and sugar, and enough time to come to swim meets that lasted forever, to cheer me on and to play Spite and Malice with Mom while they waited for my next event.
Also from the delicious aroma of the pipe-smoking Grandpa, who drove us through the mountains (literally) in a motor home, and always found a campground with a pool. Not to mention Uncle Don, who played the guitar and sang songs that made everyone laugh and sometimes made the girls cry, who every year threatened to build a fire in the fireplace before Santa came, but in the end, never did.
I am from dreams, some of which shattered with my parents' marriage, and some of which came truer than I could ever have hoped or imagined. Because that great God and friend is also a redeemer.
I am from the boxes of photos in the basement, report cards and newspaper clippings and school projects carefully kept by a mom who cared and took note of our every accomplishment. I am from ribbons and medals and a few trophies...
...that never figured one iota into how much I was loved.
Note: I found the template and some sources and examples at this link on mamakatslosinit.com. I tweaked it a little for my own liking, but I have loved reading the ones others have done. Fun walk down memory lane for me. I bet you would enjoy it too. Be sure to come back and leave me a comment if you do!