I am from wooden spoons and male cooks, from Spam, potatos and dumplings.
I am from the house unseen from the road, a riot of hued and scented surprise once you got up that god-awful hill.
I am from the prairie rose beside the dry dirt drive, the dogwood trees whose berries were ammunition against my brother.
I am from patriotism and pot lucks, from Norman and Aunt Imy who played softball better than anyone and Carol who... well, never mind.
I am from bull-headedness and bickering amongst family but closing ranks against outsiders.
From "don't do as I do; do as I TOLD you to do" and staying away from the closet at the head of the stairs because there was a BEAR in there. (There was also Christmas presents in there, but I didn't know that then.)
I am from the pow'r in the blood on an old rugged cross. Easter Sunrise Services at a little white church in the vale.
I'm from Coffeyville, Kansas and Columbus, Indiana; with coffee in heavy, white, military mugs that made it taste that much better. From being danced by my Aunt Becky when I was a baby and having my babies danced by my Aunt Becky now.
I'm from Love going out the window as Love comes in the door and from my grandmother singing "Will the Circle Be Unbroken" when she'd done more than anyone to break it. And I come from the amazement of forgiving that makes Family.
I am from cigar boxes of ladies' hankies and school pictures tucked in every crevice; albums falling apart from often handling and brief glimpses of WWII medals.
I am from Family. Which is why I clutch one of the heirloom hankies while looking through photo boxes with my children. And why I need to buy a replacement album or two already.