Where I’m From

I’ve been reading a book called Being the Change by Sara K. Ahmed.  I’m following the lead of several of my colleagues who’ve been studying the book in an online professional development group.  In the first chapter, the author encourages teachers to try out the lessons for themselves before introducing them to students.  I tried an Identity Web and I wrote about my name.  This morning I’ve tried my own version of George Ella Lyon’s poem, “Where I’m From.”   It’s a work in progress, of course, but I can also see how it’s helping me reflect on how I became me.

Where I’m From
(Inspired by George Ella Lyon and Sara K Ahmed)

I’m from an Aryan Swede and a New York Jew,
I’m from hard bread and liver glop,
I’m from tack för maten and oy gevalt.
I’m a mutt.

I’m from a chewed-up ball
From the oil-stained drive,
A George Street treasure
From the man upstairs.

I’m from a Mimosa tree at the top of a hill,
the Crestwood we climbed
with feathered leaves  
and cotton candy blooms.

I’m from MLK and RFK,
I’m from the hope
and the hate
of 1968.

I’m from piano lessons avoided for baseball in the street.
I’m from shagging flies in center field,  
I’m from Mickey Mantle to Manny Machado,
I’m from rooting hard for the underdog.

I’m from traipsing up trails with Deep Woods Off,
Tripping on roots and gasping for air,
I’m from filling canteens in a mountain stream, then
Spreading arms wide on a rocky peak.

I’m from a date at a diner,
And artichoke birthdays.
I’m from adoption angels
And bed-rest miracles.

I’m from Hazel the housekeeper
And Hazel of the Down,
I’m from Winnie Foster’s choice
And Jack Will’s second chance.

I’m from out of sight means 
Out of mind, but
I’m from places I’ve left
and refuse to leave behind.

I’m from losing a child.
I’m from butterfly sightings.
and support group salvation, 

I’m from night-long talks,
And Out of the Darkness walks.

I’m from scratching the ears
Of another aging mutt,
Who shows me how
To carry on.

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