I am from the country and its dusty roads, from going barefoot all summer long and catching lightning bugs in a jar. I am from bee stings, mosquito bites, and poison ivy; from June bugs tied to a string and watching them fly. I am from sliding boards made slick with wax paper, from playing with dolls until I was...old, and believing in Santa for just as long. I am from Vicks Vapor Rub heated wool cloths Mama put on my chest when I was sick; from a broken arm, mumps in fourth grade, and skinned knees.
I am from the little white house on 58, the kitchen with the wringer washer, and the blue hydr
angea by the back step. I am from the days of waving at truckers on their routes and loving it when they blew their horn. I am from the house in the city where we moved when I was 11; from the carport where I bounced my ball a thousand times against the brick and skated down the steep driveway into the street. And biked for hours, played hide-and-go-seek, and sledded in the dark.
I am from the tobacco fields, handing leaves, with sticky juice on my clothes in the summer; from the honeysuckle by the cedar tree and the rosebush near the front porch I watered and cared for. I am from the leaves I love to rake and the grass I love to mow. I am from hayrides and cookouts and homemade peach ice cream. I am from pinto beans, buttered tomato biscuits, and cinnamon rolls on Wednesday nights after church.
I am from the Solomons and the Snows, Ed and Mill--and from uncles, aunts, and cousins we vacationed with; from "See Rock City" painted on every barn roof between home and the mountains where we always headed. I am from the quiet steadiness of my dad and the go-get'em of my mom and from living with them until I was 28 and still wishing things could be as they were for just one more day--with Daddy still alive.
I am from Casper the Ghost, Lassie, and Sky King every Saturday morning; from Gunsmoke and Lawrence Welk, from Little Joe, Hoss, and Adam; and from laughter and card games with Arnold and Margaret...until Tom started calling. I am from snowy Christmases celebrated with shoeboxes on the sofa full of apples, oranges, and candy; from secretly opening and rewrapping my gifts and fooling no one.
I am from "pretty is as pretty does," "because I said so," and "y'all come to see us when you can."
I am from Sunday homecomings, gospel singings, and dinner on the grounds; from church outhouses, funeral home fans, and fire-and-brimstone camp meetings. I am from Bro. Maze revivals and the Inspirations on stage; from Troy, Archie, and the Old Bear Hunter singing "Little is Much if God is In It" and "On the Sunny Banks." I am from walking the aisle and accepting Christ, just as I am, and from thanking Him every day for making me one of His own.
I am from the South; from a small town in Virginia with Main Street and Riverdale where everyone cruised to see who else was cruising on Saturday nights. I am from branching out to Hampton to Richmond to Charlottesville to Williamsburg to the Valley. I am from pulling up stakes, leaving friends, and always being ready to follow the Lord wherever He leads. I am from this old world but headed to a better home.
I am from the heritage of grandparents I never knew; from Eddie and Lucy and John and Maggie; from English, Scottish, and Irish descent.
I am from pictures tucked away in shoeboxes taken with Mama's treasured Brownie camera; from memories of days gone by when we were a family of four. I am from honesty and caring and doing the best you can, and sticking with it when the going gets tough; I am from faithfulness. I am from a marriage to a godly man and four great kids; and Lord willing, I am from many more memories to come.
That's where I'm from. Where are you from?
~Deb
