|Yup. That's me. |
What do you think I was about to say?
I am from the snow piled 5 feet high, bleak dreary winters, too cold to leave the house.
I am from the bleeding hearts in my front yard, discovering the lilies of the valley hiding in the shade in April and the yellow roses that my mother always pruned at the wrong time of the year.
I am from Christmas around the table at Grandma Virgies, and drunken slurred arguments late into the night, and from Uncle Ray and Aunt Nancy and Great-Aunt Angie.
|Grandma Virge, me, Grandma G|
I am from the smoke-filled rooms where children's birthday parties were held and being pressured to eat something-ANYTHING when the piles of italian cookies are stacked high on glass plates on the table.
From "if you don't behave the MAN will come and steal you"and "You don't have a tumor/cancer/heart disease/polio/tapeworm. Stop being a hypochondriac."
I am from Sister Celestine explaining that if I don't have a prayer corner in my bedroom then I cannot make my first communion and my mother telling me that I don't need a prayer corner to go to heaven.
|Holy Trinity Church|
I’m from the North Side and the foot of the boot and Poland/Russia/Germany, depending on when the land changed hands, from my mother's Golabki and my aunt's Spaghetti with Calamari.
From the baby who cried non-stop for six months and only stopped when she was placed in an open dresser drawer, the uncle who almost died when he tried to quit drinking who was lucky that they chose to put him on life support because he woke up 4 days later, and the lady who was only 4 months old when her mother brought her on the journey to America.
|Baby in Drawer|
I am from the black and white photographs in a yellowed manilla envelope in my mother's closet and the momentos and papers tucked away in Aunt Mary's basement, and collecting them all to create my own broken understanding of where I am from.
This was a prompt found at Mama Kat's