I am from walks through woods and muddy boots,
days spent on the pier with rod in hand and brother in tow.
From a quaint townhouse with family roots.

From singing songs at the school talent show
and crisp fall days at Barthel’s picking apples.
From night-time golf by the moonlight glow.

I am from months at home without a dad
and the Christmas eve he came home.
From my trip Down Under and toes in the sand.

From my high school job working at the Y
of playing dodgeball with kids and of twelve hour days.
From my Nana’s homemade apple pie.

I am from November 2nd, 2006, crying,
not knowing what surgery would bring.
From a giant Crunch bar and the fear of dying.

From a crowded garage and a cluttered back hall
with boots and jackets strewn.
From my first deer hunt and CYM basketball.

I am from St. Joan of Arc and the golden rule,
from haunted gyms and Modern Woodmen.
From gas station donuts on the way to school.

From family weekends up north at the cabin
with leaky row boats and slideshows.
From a day on Lake Michigan catching trophy king salmon.

I am from Milford Hills and tiring pheasant hunts
that ended with a bowl of chili.
From Junior Crusaders and laying down bunts.

I am from thousands of my grandparents’ slides scanned.
From a loving family and
from parents that always understand.