Where I'm From

Where I’m from, late summer nights are spent out on Grandma’s front porch, sharing stories from our past. There are holes in the screen so mosquitoes dance around the single bulb dangling from the ceiling. The fan rotates slowly, barely disturbing the thick, humid air. Crickets sing their incessant song, a perpetual background melody to our conversation. The spring on the back of the screen door is so stretched out, from years and years of eager children flinging it carelessly open, eager to run down to jump in the lake, that the door slams slap, an announcement for each arriving and departing guest.

Where I’m from we crunch sugar sweet, buttery corn on the cop and wipe ketchup dripping from our hamburgers grilled on our charcoal grill in the backyard on our hands.

Where I’m from, kids catch fireflies until it’s so dark, their slowly illuminating bodies pulsing light, dark, light dark, are the only thing illuminating the inky blackness. A mother’s shrill two-fingered whistle beckons the children home to bed. They go unwillingly, not wanting the night to end, smelling of bonfire smoke, fingers and lips still sticky white with the remains of their roasted marshmallows.

Where I’m from, children ride around on their hand-me-down bicycles, watching out for one another, no adult supervision, only returning home when their stomachs signal the need for sustenance, so they can could continue their day-long adventures at the lake.

Where I’m from, people wear their swim suits beneath their t-shirts and shorts, towel draped around their necks, always ready for an impromptu dip in the lake or ride on the boat – except for on Sundays. Where I’m from Sunday mornings are for sitting with your family in church, dressed in your finest, hair clean and coiffed, pondering God’s purpose for your life, chanting ancient prayers in unison with members of your congregation. We sing hymns of old, call and response, call and response, stand up, sit down, repeat.

Where I’m from, everybody knows everybody and they know all your business, even when you really wish they didn’t.

Where I’m from, it’s easy to get lost in a moment, staring at a yellow jacket tip-toeing tenderly across a wildflower. Time slows. Obligations wait. Neighbors pause to greet one another as their walk their dogs in the early morning light and crisp coolness of the day not quite yet begun.

Where I’m from, there is possibility for what could be, even if the path to get there is unclear. There are people to guide you along the way, offering encouragement, support, and maybe a plate of freshly baked oatmeal chocolate chip cookies…