I am from a cheerful yellow house on a sleepy country highway, from Country Time lemonade and purple lilac bushes that bloomed in the spring.
I am from popcorn ceilings, wood paneling and shag carpeting, from tea kettles adorned with orange and brown mushrooms and from Red Rivers served at the soda fountain in the Rexall Drug store.
I am from flowerbeds overflowing with vibrant Sweet Williams and from the nectar of mountain Columbine, sweet on the tongue.
I am from large family gatherings at Thanksgiving and women who all look alike, from Molly and Nick and the long-legged Gibsons.
I am from temperamental outbursts fueled by frustration and from quick apologies sincerely made.
I am from eating my vegetables because there are starving children in Africa and from doing unto others as I would have them do unto me.
I am from Mass on Sunday and Catechism on Wednesday, from dry communion wafers sticking to the roof of my mouth and from coffee and donuts following Father's edict to “go in peace”.
I am from rural Colorado by way of Tennessee bootleggers, German immigrants and Divine Providence, from bread fresh from the oven and sauerkraut fermented in a large stone crock.
I am from home-rolled cigarettes and tobacco tamped down in a pipe, from popcorn made on the stove top and fresh-shelled peas from the garden.
I am from roller skates, Barbies, paper dolls and Spirograph. From forts made with blankets and clothespins, early morning swim practice and late-evening bicycle rides around the neighborhood.
I am from nights spent stargazing on a blanket spread over cool grass, from splashing through warm puddles after the rain, from waking to the sound of drums from the high school marching band during the month of July.
I am from rodeos and parades and carnival rides, from campfires, Knox Blocks, coconut-scented suntan oil, and, the Bionic Woman.
I am from albums crammed with yellowing photos, from memories frayed and sharp, from laughter and love and joy.
I am from a simpler time.
Where are you from?