Slice of Life Day 8: Where I'm From

I am from music,

from choirs, mandolins, and shaped-note hymnals.

I am from Mamaw's parlor,

gathered around a clangy, out-of-tune piano

to sing hymns with family in 4-part harmony,

surrounded by faded portraits of people

with the same smile shape

and same eyes.

I am from farms and white houses,

from Mother Grace and Daddy Vance,

from green Kool-Aid and cigars.

I'm from family reunions on a shady lawn,

from holding hands in a prayer circle--

From not quite fitting in.

I am from lost things--

from memories and futures,

from time with my mom,

from Alzheimers and Parkinson's disease.

I am from saying goodbye in song to people I wanted to believe would live forever.

I am from books and libraries,

hearing echoes from voices down the corridors of history,

seeing through the eyes of people I am not,

making connections to others in the stories I share with them.

I am from wanting to understand,

trying to listen,

inviting the silent to speak.

I am from the South, but it will not define me.

I am from church, but I will not close my mind.

I am from privilege, but I will not be blind to the hurt of others.

I am from questions; from the hope of finding answers.