Where I'm From...

This post was intially written a few months ago, but I feel like it fits this week's listicle perfectly. Not the traditional listicle format, but perfect none the less.

A few months ago, I stumbled upon the template to the Where I'm From writing exercise modeled after the poem by George Ella Lyon on another blogger's site. I initally found it on The Girl Behind in June of this year. Her eloquence, created such  a vivid picture of one's childhood that I was floored. Immediately I too copied the template, with the intention of filling my own words, my own life on those empty lines.
But then, it hit me.
That feeling that the task was too large. The task of finding the "right" words seemed overwhelming.
So I clicked, save and there the template sat.
Waiting for my words.
Days turned to weeks which turned to months and then it happened.
Imagine my surprise when I discovered the template listed amongst this week's prompts over at Mama Kat. I debated, should I finish? (really should I start?)
Reading Galit's version over at These Little Waves gave me that last push I needed.

Where I'm From 

I am from a town raised from steel, from Louisville Slugger and Heinz ketchup.

I am from the repetition of a suburban development.  Black mailbox, Black driveway, freshly mowed grass.

I am from the feisty dogwood tree sharing her spring blooms, the sound of the crickets breaking the nightly silence.

I am from Christmas Eve Mass and overindulgence, from Mom-Moms. and Pop-Pops and extended family too.

I am from the loud voices overtaking the room and the whispers found in it's corners.

From "Imagine if you applied yourself." and "Don't end up like....".

I am from the pew in the middle row. The promise of eternal life, and the Host every Sunday. From education about faith to shared breakfast after. From crowded manger scenes, to washing of the feet. From Amen and I believe.

I’m from small towns in Poland, Slovakia, and Ireland, overly buttered piergoies and tomato sauced topped stuffed cabbage.

From the farm my great grandfather managed, the rides on the back of the tractor down the dusty dirt road and the little boy who learned to ride a bicycle only after riding away on the one he had stolen.

I am from framed photos on the wall and matted in plastic lined albums. I am from little, few family heirlooms or mementos of monetary value. Instead, people filling the confines of a home. Rooms overtaken with life.
Family the core, the center, the most important.

I must add in non-poetic verse.

I am from the land of the Blob.

Yes, this Blob.

This movie was filmed here, and our local theater hosts a Blob Fest yearly.