I am from family dinners of meat and boiled potatoes at the table each night, from Coca-Cola and road-trips for ice cream and chip truck fish and chips (french fries), salt & vinegar potato chips that leave your mouth numb, soccer games with the boys, and always had two or three pets.
I am from farms and the old brick house dated 1890 with the ancient oak my dad cut down, from star-filled nights and rain on a metal roof, from imaginary adventures with my only friend, Scottie, who followed me down any path, protected me from strays and coyotes, and when I buried my nose in his fur it somehow always smelled like popcorn.
I am from maple trees overhanging quiet streets, abandoned train tracks, from where the gravel crunched under your shoes and it was so quiet you could hear yourself think.
I am from Christmas at the farm, from Grandpa playing the fiddle and don’t talk during Tommy Hunter, from Grandma and her fresh baked bread and knitted slippers — who always had the patience to listen to a lonely teen.
I am from stubborn til it’s stupid and loyalty that’s thicker than blood even when it shouldn’t be. I’m from “that’ll put hair on your chest” and be home when the streetlights come on, never hit a lady – but if she hits you first she ain’t no lady, and always leave with the guy you came with. I’m from pony-tails, go hard or go home, and playin’ with the boys.
I’m from farmers who grew enough for their family and the stranger who came looking to work for food, from day-in-day-out hard work and honest sweat, where your animals got fed before you did, from potatoes and corn on the cob and homemade pudding with milk straight from the cow.
I’m from United Empire Loyalists, Irish immigrants, and British Home Children who homesteaded and survived — orphans cast out and forced to start over. I’m from faded yellow scrapbooks of old report cards, from one-day-wonder vacations where you took enough photos so it looked like you’d been gone a week, Sunday drives, and staying up too late because I had to know how the story ended.
I’m the adult who held back her tears until she was home again, wondering who she would talk to with her grandmother gone, and now the questions have piled up so high she wouldn’t know where to start except with a kiss on the cheek. “I’ve missed you.”
Where are you from?
Here’s my challenge – find the template for this post here at the bottom of Sharla Lovelace’s blog and create your own Where I’m From post. Write your own in the comments, or post it on your blog and leave the link.
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This post is superb. I loved every word of it. I would love to know more about your British Home Children heritage, my great grandfather was sent as a tiny child from an English Boy’s home to Canada
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Hi Christa,
My great great grandfather and my great grandfather were both British Home Boys, as they were called. I wrote more about it here: https://lisahallwilson.com/2012/02/07/the-ghosts-that-haunt-us-the-british-home-children/
They were shipped here as boys and one was left in the wilds of northern Ontario to manage a farm on his own while the owner returned to Britain for the winter! The stories are absolutely scandalous and their lonely, mostly solitary, upbringing continues to affect our family.
Wow, I don’t think I could even tell you that much about my g-g-grandfather or his heir. Nevermind how it affects my family…that’s quite amazing.
Although I have been learning the last few days that the affliction that causes my son to be non-verbal and delayed by half his age appears to have been swimming through my family for many generations….unpacking that is where I’m at right now…
My mom’s big into genealogy. It was crazy how many generations she had to provide birth certificates for to apply for her official United Empire Loyalist status. She has it on her father’s side, and is only missing one birth certificate for the status on her mother’s side too. From the United Empire Loyalist Association of Canada’s site: “Being a proved Loyalist descendant confers no special status in Canadian or other society, but many members use the post-nominal letters “UE” after their name, in consequence of Lord Dorchester’s Order in Council in 1789, conferring recognition of the service of the Loyalists in defense of “The Unity of Empire.”
Lisa, this is an exceptional post. I taught me things, made me at times envious and at others sympathetic. Thank you for letting me get to know you in such a personal way.
Thanks! Glad you enjoyed it.
Beautiful post, Lisa! I love how sensory your memories are. I swear I could smell that farm. 😉
I may draw up my own in the future. Thanks for sharing, regardless.
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I’d love to read your story too. Thanks – I dream in color 😛
Hey, I found your post a fascinating idea! It was so interesting to catch a glimpse into your childhood. I found it too good to pass up, so I wrote one myself and published it here: http://erikasimone.com/what-this-missionary-kid-is-made-of/
Great post! Thanks for joining in.
Lisa – I read your story a couple of days ago, and enjoyed it very much. It’s interesting to read about people, their lives, their roots.
My writing is taking on a new direction, and the format of this story fits perfectly. I’m a little late, but this is my story of Humble Beginnings: http://wp.me/p2Nm0T-f7
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I still love this so much, even all this time later. 🙂