I am from spatzle made by hand in a cast iron skillet, from authentic Gummi Bears that have taken flight across the Atlantic, and wooden stacking dolls with hidden surprises inside.
I am from the townhouse filled with hillbillies and Monday Night Football with Bocephus and the Super Bowl Shuffle. From gullies filled with sky high adventure, and secret spots underneath the willow tree.
I am from the silk roses on a kitchen table, from buttercups that reveal a passion for butter. From honeysuckle so strong it stays with you, and Easter mornings filled with yellow daffodils.
I am from the Island of Misfit Toys and a quirky sense of humor, and Dorothy, Oma, and Bass. I am from family gatherings at Grandma’s, uncles preaching on the street corner, and brothers playing practical jokes.
I am from “you need to get those kids to church” and “I can tell the difference between butter and margarine.” From “be in when the street lights come on” and “you will be late for your own funeral”.
I am from the Shalt Not Baptists, rigid in rules yet strong on faith. From those not afraid to raise their hands in praise, filled with grace, and wrought with love.
I’m from Virginia is for lovers and Germany, baked ham and hot apple cider. I’m from Fredericksburg and Ireland, shamrocks and the civil war.
I’m from the World War II American hero and his German frau, a grandfather with a headline, and the stories my grandmother told.
I am from the photo albums and framed pictures on the wall, passed down from generation to generation, sharing our smiles, our school years, our missing teeth. From memories of past and present, a yellowing photograph to weddings placed on canvas.
This is where I’m from.
I’m participating in Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop this week, using the prompt Where I’m From. You can find the template here to do your own.
So tell me, where are you from?