I am from backyard swing sets, from Ivory soap that floats, Breck shampoo, and stories that end with happily ever after.
I am from tumbleweed snowmen, roly-poly bugs, horny toads, and freshly mowed grass.
I’m from roller skates, playing jacks, hula-hoops, and Barbie dolls. I had my very own John Deere pedal tractor and my big girl, fat-tire Schwinn.
I am from the Beatles and the Monkeys on 45s spinning on a record player, orange juice can hair rollers, trading disks to go steady, going to the picture show on Friday night, and meeting boys at the skate rink on Saturday mornings.
I am from bright yellow daffodils that bloom on Daddy’s birthday, colorrama purple and orange desert sunsets; the Llano Estacado, the yucca, prickly-pears, cottonwoods, and mesquite bushes.
I'm from black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day, "big girls don’t cry" and “until your better’s best”; from Voncile, and AJ, and Ida.
I am from “clamming up”, and “not counting your chickens before they’re hatched”, and “hit the deck, you’re burning daylight”.
I’m from Blue Birds, Camp Fire Girls, Rainbow, MYF, Sunday school, and Student Council.
I’m from Camp Skyline in the Guadalupe Mountains and Camp Mystic on the Guadalupe River, swimming lessons every summer, and those damn piano lessons every week.
I am from “slow and steady wins the race”, and “nice girls don’t…”.
I am from Methodists backbenchers, and rebel Campbellites, going to Church in your Sunday best, after dancing in the kitchen on Saturday night.
I’m from Bobbie Brooks pant suits, Villager sweater sets, penny loafers, and Keds with a hole in the toe. And cutoffs that lasted for years and years.
I am from Carlsbad, from Texas, Tennessee, and North Carolina, from England and Ireland; from fried chicken, pot roast, collard greens, cornbread, and pecan pie.
I’m from “turn out the light when you leave the room”, “don’t comb your hair in the kitchen”, and “the work isn’t finished until the cleanup’s done.”
I am from snow-cones at the ballpark, giant pickles at the movies, wax lips and pixie sticks walking home from school. I’m from swimming in the Pecos, at the flood gates, and Diving Rock. I’m from partying at the Cottonwoods, or the sand dunes, and running the quarter on the Hobbs highway.
I’m from Daddy, a roofing contractor who invested in the bogus uranium mine, and Mother, who bought her own ladies ready-to-wear business without asking Daddy and made it a success. They didn’t always agree, but they stayed married for 59 years. And they loved each other and me. I will never forget who I am, or where I’m from.
