I am from trees growing out of concrete, from bottled milk deliveries, black and white TV and Irish stew. I am from the rail road room,three story house, noisy, neighborly, with summer breezes blowing through the screens tossing the curtains over my face, cooling the house.
I am from the tomato plants, rose bushes and swing sets in the back yard, the small patch of grass, cool under my feet.
I am from large Sunday dinners, pranksters and beer drinkers, from the Irish with their brogues and the Germans with their beer.
I am from those who don't know how to stop talking, laughing, crying and praying.
From the fear of the bogey man in the closet and Daddy's bedtime stories and brothers who made me eat worms.
I am from a variety of religions, yet, calling none of them my own. My spirit is one with nature.
I'm from the northeast, corned beef, sauerbraten and lasagna.
From the the mailman and the waitress who fell in love quickly and loved to dance and laugh, the grandmother who bought me nice clothes, the father with curly hair, the other grandmother who disliked Mom because she was Republican!
I am from the black and white wedding picture that now hangs on the wall of my mom's nursing home room, the urn of ashes on the fire place, the songs that still ring loud in my heart. The memories are what I have, some bad, but mostly good as I see their smiling faces in my mind and still feel their love in my heart. That's what keeps them alive, the memories.
Where are you from?
