Now, where was that again?

Inspired by Green Pepper Press, Simple Blog Writer, and Beyond the Map, I thought I’d give this idea a try even though it makes me feel a little too self-obsessed. But what writer isn’t? Anyway, you should give this exercise a try, too (and let me know if you do).

Where do I come from?

I come from humidity, cattails, and orange groves. I come from the state of serial killers and con artists and refugees. I come from cow pastures and tourist traps and strip malls and motels selling discounted tickets. I come from sunshine and thunder storms and hurricanes and sink holes and muck fires. I come from alligators, snakes, frogs coming out of the bathtub drain and spiders keeping me out of my room.

I come from a father who taught himself to read and write, who laughs no matter how angry anyone else ever gets, and who tells bad jokes. I come from a father who never explained anything but who read bedtime stories even as it pained him to read. I come from a cook and a carpenter and a fisherman. I come from a man who can kill a rat with his bow and arrow. I come from a man who never lacked for a date or for a wife but never both at the same time. I come from a father who never frightened me but who didn’t protect me either.

I come from a mother who died. I come from a mother who was abused and unhappy. I coem from a mother who kept her promises and never condescended. I come from a mother who told the truth, who made art, who took photographs, who wrote, and who loved dragons and wolves. I come from a mother who fought back and who always asked, why do you think that? I come from a woman who changed, who overcame, who graduated with honors. I come from a woman who finally had a chance to climb out of years of poverty. I come from a mother who terrified me but who protected me and fought for me.

I come from a terrible marriage, a divorce, a custody battle, an angry step-mother. I come from being too tall and too skinny for boys to pay attention to. I come from whole weekends left alone in an empty house with a field, an orange grove, and a lake for company. I come from books and art and a desire to escape. I come from knowing my life is my own but can change at any moment. I come from a place I would never change but would never go back to.

It almost sounds romantic put like this, but it seemed so normal at the time.

5 thoughts on “Now, where was that again?

  1. Wonderful! I love it.

    I so agree with your comment about it sounding romantic but seemed so normal at the time. That is how I felt after I wrote my piece. I’m really glad you tried it out.

    And, I’m glad to get to know you a little bit more. It’s revealing to see what people pluck out from their past.

  2. Stunning.
    We come from so much. And at the time it does seem normal. It is, in that it is what we know.
    the images here made an impression on me and will drift about in my own imagination.
    thank-you for writing this and sharing it here.

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