Where I'm From

Thank you to Joy for sharing this idea. If you want to play along, you can find the template to write one here.

Where I’m From

I am from the hairbrush that became a microphone when Olivia Newton-John, Michael Jackson or Andy Gibb’s voices echoed from my stereo speakers. I’m from Cheerwine and Yoo-Hoo, Krispy Kreme Doughnuts and Richard Petty.

I am from the English Tudor tucked in the woods at the end of a residential street. From the ranch house in the country with white paint haphazardly slapped onto the chain link fence.

I am from the dogwood trees and azaleas that grow in the yard, and the tobacco plant that made it possible for some in my family to make a living.

I am from the place where you can drive a golf cart before you know your multiplication tables and it’s perfectly acceptable to dress a cat in baby doll clothes.

I am from Carl and Norma, Fred and Helen, Sharon and Alan, and Norman. I am from a host of cousins I call ‘aunts and uncles,’ as well as cousins who are more like siblings.  I'm from ‘adopted grandparents’ and a church family that loves me like I’m kin.

I am from “good morning, sunshine,” and “goodnight, love you, see you in the morning.”

From “He made you something special; you’re the only one of your kind,” and “I love you a bushel and a peck.”

I am from the Moravian Church, with its’ Lovefeasts, stars, candlelight services with crimson trimmed candles, and hymns that I still hum and sing as I go about my day.

I'm from the city of Winston-Salem, nestled in the rolling hills of North Carolina. From Cherokee Indians and hard-working people who settled there generations before. I’m from blackberries growing on vines, vegetables from our garden, sugar cake, Dewey’s cake squares and homemade blueberry muffins.

From the woman who agreed to visit her brother’s friend in the hospital, as a favor to her brother, and ended up visiting her future husband. I’m from the man who drove a truck around the country to make a living to support his wife and children.

I am from the school pictures hanging on my Meme’s wall - one for each year from kindergarten through 12th grade, the Kimball organ that I “performed” on, the twin beds that I grew up sleeping in – and still sleep in when I go back to visit. I’m from the little grocery store on the corner, the old water pump in Salem Square, and the folks who know everything about me, and love me anyway.