Before I begin my post this was a Writer’s Workshop idea from almost 2 weeks ago, I was intrigued by the idea so I wrote my own Where I’m From.
I am from lots of tomatoes and bananas because that is what my parents could afford, from the land of Hershey chocolate and the Abigail, my Cabbage Patch doll who still resides in my somewhere in my house.
I am from the house next to dam with lots of green grass and an apartment in a house that had three floors with a spooky door that intrigued me. I am from a house that had a magical forest we never roamed and a giant side yard where we played cricket and learned our Rainbow ritualistic work. I am from the hill way in the back with a metal fence where I sled and broke my leg.
I am from the black walnut tree that splattered walnuts onto the driveway – such the mess and the tomatoes my Great Uncle fertilized while we were at my aunt’s wedding. We had tomatoes coming out of our ears the summer of ’88.
I am from eating olives and white salad at family reunions at the farm with the Willow trees. Photography, family history, always having chocolate, coffee, obscure driving, Word Power and a faith in God from Uncle Corky, Grandpa and John.
I am from talking a lot and a Masonic tradition something I passed on to my oldest. I am from big hips, thighs, and butts, and thick hair.
From “You have long legs,” “quit standing like that,” and random vocabulary words I was told to look up in the HUGE dictionary.
I am from the United Methodist Church. Grandpa was a pastor and insisted we go to church. As a teen, I discovered Clayton United Methodist Church that changed my life. The Beattie’s will be my forever family.
I’m from Hershey, PA, pretzel sticks with cream cheese, Fat Rats, and pickles.
From our trip to Walt Disney World where I told my mom that Thunder Mountain was not a roller coaster. She closed her eyes and wished it was over while on the ride. The time I got carsick while riding on the Blue Ridge Mountains on our way to Harper’s Ferry where we saw Betty, and the independent plane ride at 10 to see my aunt in Colorado. It was my first and only time seeing the Rocky Mountains. I discovered my love of olives on that trip and my sense of adventure.
I am from my mom’s oral story telling of people long ago. I am from the special scrapbook my aunt made of my grandpa’s time as a tail gunner during World War II. I am from the plastic tubs of photos and other mementos of my family. I am from the family recipes my grandma sent to me while I was in the College Program in Walt Disney World. I cherish those because she hand wrote each of them with her love for me.
I am from the many miniature golfing trips, trips to Downtown to eat lunch in the food court of the Arcade, and shopping at Woolworth and the book store. I am from summer trips to Virginia where I learned American History at Monticello, Stratford Hall, and George Washington’s birthplace. I am from many years in Rainbow learning how to be a proper lady while messing up my temporary room in only 2 days. I am from the youth group where we went on Mission trips. Ambo, the traveling hobo, “I don’t like Chinese food,” making the boys pretty, and becoming a family at Myrtle Beach.