I am from

I am from the big house on Main Street.

I am from the living room with the recliners and the couch in front of the big wooden color TV—not the restored and decorated Victorian half of the house, reserved only for entertaining and special occasions.

I am from my own room, with legos, in a maze of doors built in 1911 connecting each of my siblings’ rooms.

I am from the patio, meeting place and mini basketball court, next to the side yard where our dachshunds played left brown patches in the grass.

I am from Catholic kids walking past the house to catechism after school.

I am from Marvin and Fredericka. Louise and Fred. Dorothy.

I am from matriarchs and makers of matriarchs.

I am from Larry and Donna Mahr. Rotary. School boards. Working late billing. Advocating for alternative education.

I am from “You are so creative.” “That is not acceptable.” “Shush!” with a finger thwacked on top of my head.

I am from waiting for dad to get home for dinner.

I am from meals prepared by 10-to-16 year-old chefs: Shake-n-bake chicken. Hamburger helper. Fruit salad. Limp boiled vegetables.

I am from Goulash. Casseroles. Seven-layer salads. TV dinners with babysitters. Butchered animals gifted by farmers to a veterinarian father.

I am from “Thank you for the world so sweet. Thank you for the food we eat. Thank you for the birds that sing. Thank you God for everything.”

I am from using the special set of dishes on Easter, Christmas and Thanksgiving.

I am from Oregon, Wisconsin.

(A poem written as part of the White Ally Learning Lab workshop, March 12, 2011)