I am from evergreens and cutting down Christmas trees in the backyard and carrying twice my age of firewood up the stairs.
I am from bunk beds and sleigh beds.
I am from the California of snow and mountains and desert summers and Tinkerbell Lane.
Even when I don’t close my eyes at 4:30 p.m., I am from the town of Odyssey and the ice cream shop they call Whit’s End. The old man with the mustache, the young man with the glasses, the girl with the green sweater who is the last to know everything...
I am from televisions that hide behind blankets and know no channels, but that welcome weekend movie nights with that green splotch in the upper-right corner of the screen.
I am from Christmases with few traditions and Thanksgivings at Granny and Poppa’s house with the crepe paper and balloons because it’s my birthday.
I am from a small family, a small town, a small church.
A mother who feels and a father who thinks.
A father who runs marathons and a mother who talks marathons.
A first-generation Christian family.
I am from all-natural soaps and organic everything.
From Honda cars and Ford trucks.
Taco meat and Rice Krispies.
Jean jumpers and matching clothes and modesty.
I am from homeschooling at my little desk, and always wanting to pledge allegiance to the American flag.
I am from those who distrusted the Newsboys and then loved the Newsboys.
I am from conservatives and middle-class and Christian bubbles.
I am from angry words and gentle words and too many words and not enough words and sarcasm.
I am from sparse decorations and piles of papers and a certain way to put the dishes in the dishwasher.
I am from hiding away from people and worrying what they think.
I am from the west. I am from the Midwest. I am from the near and the far. I am from deep down and close up and the space between fear and freedom. I am from home, and I am for home.
My family and me in 2006