Where I Am From

I am from many different people, places and every thing from Three Musketeer’s candy bars to Schwinn Bicycles with a Mickey Mantle baseball card clothes pinned in the spokes sounding like a small motor. I am from the Mickey Mouse Club and Disneyland.

I am from the 6th Street home in Colorado. The small house with the grey flowered wool carpet, the wringer washer in the basement and the aroma of Grandma’s fresh baked oatmeal cookies filling the air.

I am from the sweet potato with the toothpicks holding it in water in the Mason jar so that it would vine, the hollyhocks in the back yard and the full vases of fragrant sweet peas sitting on the old bookcase in the parlor.

I am from fruitcake baking and eating people. I am from the kind of people who would sit around the table talking while shelling pounds of walnuts and pecans. I am from Collins, Barnes, and Leach people.

I am from baseball people and military men.

I am from brave hardworking men who were in the Civil War and from men who worked on the railroad. I am from humble women who sewed, baked, gardened and had big families. I am from women who endured floods, and lived through having Small Pox.

I am from God-fearing people, hymn-singing people who in addition to Sunday services also attend Wednesday night prayer meetings at the local Baptist Church. I am from other people who did not go to church, people who worked in Cigar stores and played pool. I am from a mix of good people; some were kinder and gentler than others were.

I am from a family who not only expected but also enjoyed fried chicken every Sunday for supper. I am from a gang of chili lovers where mostly everyone agreed the more chili powder the better.

From the chain-link fence that I scaled the first day it was put up, from the swimming pool at Golden Gate Park where I became a junior lifeguard and the from the lugs of fresh peaches that would soon be made into pies.

I am from locks of hair tied with pink ribbon neatly tucked away in Mom’s old jewelry box that she hid in the bottom of her laundry basket. Even though we never had any robbers, it was the place where they would not think to look for her most sentimental processions like my baby teeth and the locks of my baby hair.

Rose

I am not sure anymore where I first heard about this writing exercise but if you would like to use the template....here it is Where I Am From.
If you use the template please link it back to me so I can read it.