This is a prompted post called "I am from..." Find out more about this prompt.
I am from the blue colonial in the middle of French Creek, from the thick shag carpet and sturdy, coarse American Eagle couches. Surrounded by corn, soybeans and the Balmarts.
I am from the brown clay thumb pressed into bowls, the neighbor's herd of loud guinea hens running wild until we unleashed the cats.
I am from big Christmas gatherings with boisterous chatter and blond and blue eyes, from the soft spoken grandfather missing 3 fingers.
I am from the crowd-haters and migraines.
I am from the heathens, cast off in a sea of Catholics. Going to hell because I was never baptized. Jealous because I never had a beautiful white communion dress.
I'm from rural Ohio, snobby suburbia, Finland, England, Germany and other European places only my ancestors know. City Chicken and Sushi.
From the science experiments and the philosopher's quotes at Grandma Nimelli's house, the apple pie and jar of hard candy at Grandma King's.
I am from the piles of books and boxes of trains and crocheted blankets. And a family that's loud but inviting to all that dare to approach. We've even adopted a few extra here and there -- or maybe we just don't let them leave.