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I am from a speck on the map most people don’t even know exists; from Maxwell House Coffee, wild Green Plums picked from the roadside, and Raisin Nut Bran by the boxfuls.
I am from too many houses to ever call one home; from acres of land nestled back in the “woods,” from a house on a dead end street where we rollerbladed until our knees were bloody and our pants were ripped.
I am from Pinecones and Pine Straw that litters the yard; Dogwoods and Magnolias and a flowerbed full of daylilies.
I am from one present on Christmas Eve; from Miracle on 34th Street every Thanksgiving night. From Margaret and Deloris Ann, from James Roscoe and Doris Elizabeth—hard headed and stubborn tendencies, quick to stand up for family, and never hesitant to say how you feel.
I am from let’s not hold back our thoughts, and apologize for our words later; from crying when I’m angry and laughing at inappropriate times.
From, “honey, you can do whatever you want. All you have to do is dream it.” and “the only things you’ll ever regret are the things you don’t do.” From using words like “honey” and “darling” to address perfect strangers.
I am from the third pew of an Old Baptist Church where you still sing from the hymnal; from days where Amazing Grace brought nothing but tears and promises of heavenly reunions. From Bear Bryant, Houndstooth and Roll Tide verses War Eagle for a heated Iron Bowl match every November—the kind of rivalry where wearing the wrong teams colors will land you on the back porch to eat alone (true story…happened to me). I’m from believing that people are sinners and no matter what you do, you can’t earn your way into heaven.
I am from Scottish decent and Indian Blood; from “Yatta Abba” and a land of red clay and Peanuts. I’m from a place where the only tractors are Green (John Deere Green, that is) and cotton fields stretch as far as you can see. From the Peanut Capital of the World; from festivals and beauty queens every fall. From bright red Slocomb Tomatoes and Watermelon Festivals; a Catfish Queen and a Rattle Snack Rodeo.
I’m from Fresh Squeezed Lemonade and Homemade Dumplings; from Lasanga and Cheese Grits that make you “wanna slap ya’ mama.” I’m from back roads and mud tires; from late night fishing trips and Hot Dogs on the River side. From pickled sausage and bags of chips (as long as you could carry them down to the water). From blazing heat, and humid mornings.
I’m from a Great-Grandfather who was taken Prisoner during WW2 and rode a stolen bicycle to his freedom…only to discover that the war had ended. I’m from Virginia Slim Cigarettes and coffee from a Green Ceramic Mug; from Craft Show Weekends and Burning Boxes in a Barrel. From a place where grandparents were called Granny, Maw, and Paw Paw without hesitation; a place where you played in the street without fear and stayed out to catch fireflies. I’m from roly-polys and wiggler’s, “minners” (minnows) and crickets.
I’m from a dusty old closet and scuffed up old albums that hold dozens of photos from hundreds of years back. From hand drawn sketches and polaroid shots; from images of a Feed Store and a beautiful lady by his side. From a craft room littered with fabric scraps and cigarette ash; from trying on clothes that needed to be hemmed and embroidery lessons late into the night.
I’m from the Heart of Dixie, Alabama the Beautiful, The City of Dogwoods.
From “American by Birth, Southern by the Grace of God.”
And I wouldn’t change it for anything.
I saw this post over at Playgroups are No Place for Children and decided to write my own. You can find the template for the original Where I am From by clicking here. I changed it up and added my own wording a bit, so feel free to snag this idea and do your own!