I am from sheet music.

From black ink and wrinkled paper.

I am from the red brick porch: warm, cracked, unmoving.

I’m from the land of the Ohlone.           

From golden foothills, live oaks, and hidden creeks.

I am from California Poppies: bright, abundant, welcoming.

I’m from loving baseball and being bad at baseball.

From Bill and Mary.

I’m from expressing all my emotions as anger and saying whatever I can to keep the peace.

From “we’re so blessed” and “we don’t have enough”.

I’m from “follow Jesus” and “don’t go anywhere”.

I’m from proud Italian Americans, boiling over pasta pots, and deep fried calamari.

From the little league snack shack that my mom ran like it was a full service restaurant.

I am from the window of Papa’s shoe store, standing next to my brother making faces at all those passing by;

The stacks of disposable camera photos, half finished scrap books, and participation trophies in my childhood home;

The photographic proof that we really enjoyed spending time together after all.