I am from...

                                                                I am from...

  Intro: This story was influenced by George Ella Lyon, the Kentucky poet-laureate for 2015-16. She views life's experiences like a spider's web, expanding in various directions yet everything is connected. Referring to writers as "word-weavers," one segment of her spider web is titled "Where I am from."


  I am from a cold and blustery winter's morn, sitting in our living room before dawn. I quickly pushed the insulated winter curtains open so we could see out the big, picture window. My brother and I sat on a floral sofa, under a cream-colored, fleece blanket in Lone Ranger pajamas, looking out under the streetlight, watching fresh snow come down heavily. We listened intently to the radio as school closings were about to be announced.
  I am from a Christmas Eve, sitting in the dining room gazing out a bay window, anxiously waiting for my father to arrive. Mom stood behind me with her hand on my shoulder, sharing my joy of his soon arrival. I wish mom hadn't always listened to my aunt. Just because she didn't like his family and never wanted mom to marry him, didn't mean everyone was supposed to feel the same way. We really missed him.
  I am from the taste of my first Christmas wine at the age of twelve, sitting snugly between grandpa and dad. Grandma wasn't too keen on me having Christmas wine at such an early age, so she poured my wine into a shot glass. I received my first official "shot of wine!" The taste was remarkable. "A rose wine," my grandpa whispered in my left ear after a toast had been made.
  I am from a time when a "Lionel" train set, jockey shorts, "G.I. Joe soldiers," and "Slinkies," were discovered under the Christmas tree. My brother and I would pass out presents to everyone before opening ours. Sometimes we "accidentally" tore Christmas wrap from presents with our name on them as we passed presents to everyone.
  I am from a time my grandpa and I would take the leftover Christmas wrap and empty boxes to the "burning barrel" on Christmas morning. We would sit by the four foot brick enclosure with a fifty-five gallon drum inside and sing Jingle Bells while watching the fire engulf the cardboard and wrap in flames. One time grandpa got a few of his presents mixed in with the empty boxes. He sang Jingle Bells rather gloomily that morning as we watched two flannel shirts and a pair of thermal socks go up in smoke and flames.
  I am from a time my dad arrived on Christmas Eve and brought a five gallon bucket of boiled shrimp. Before the presents were to be passed out, my brother and I sat on the floor next to the bucket of shrimp and devoured nearly all of its content. My dad just stared at us, his mind having a difficult time processing what his eyes saw. He simply could not believe we ate that much shrimp.
  I am from a time mom's voice was heard clearly in the stillness of a winter's night. It happened during the week between Christmas and New Year's. A huge rat had made it's way from the basement through a hole where the water pipes came up into her bathroom. Moses, our beloved basset hound, howled repeatedly, mom ran to her bed jumping up and down on her mattress screaming in terror, while grandpa grabbed a broomstick and beat the rat to death. My brother and I ran out of our bedrooms and stood at the doorway of mom's bedroom, totally in shock. We could not believe all the action going on at three o'clock in the morning. As she made breakfast for us that morning, my brother's only question was, "Why can mom jump on her mattress but we are not allowed to jump on ours?"
  I am from a time my aunt knit numerous items for us including mittens, scarves, and winter socks to keep our feet warm. I appreciated them so much! My aunt had a love for dachshunds including three of her own. One Christmas she made me a sweater of a knitted dachshund wrapped around the entire sweater. I remember the laughter from people ...when she demanded I wear the sweater. Less than week later, mom asked me if I would mind if she gave the sweater to a boy in the hospital (she worked there.) Mom said it would be our little secret. A few days later my aunt came by and wanted me to wear the sweater to another one of her events. We couldn't find it. Mom looked at me and winked. My aunt became very upset and accused me of getting rid of it. Mom told her I would never do such a thing. I realized mom hated the sweater as much as I did because of the embarrassment and laughter.
  I am from a time mom boiled eggs for my dad to enjoy when he arrived for the Christmas eve celebration. Dad loved boiled eggs! He could break the shell of the egg in the palm of his hands. The egg shell would practically fall of the egg. He tried to show my brother and me how to do it, but we never got the knack. I thought it might me funny to see how dad would do if I put a raw egg in the small bowl of boiled ones. As dad broke open the raw egg and the yellow yolk came oozing between his fingers, his eyes looked directly at me. After a minute or so, he couldn't contain his smile any longer and shared the laughter. "Good one! You do know payback is coming, right?" I hadn't thought of that.
  I am from a time I went to my aunt's church on Christmas eve (she had no children and I became the "lucky kid,") only to attend Christmas mass at midnight. Honestly, I enjoyed Christmas mass. It was a time when things in life came together and made sense for me. Everyone seemed to really care for others and appeared so quiet and humble as they honored His birth. The candle lights in the sanctuary, Christmas hymns, and decorations throughout made me feel...I guess secure is the best way to describe it. It was like everything was gonna' be alright. Still, I remember riding with dad on the way home. He barely got in the door and received a phone call. His brother had been shot in a battle somewhere in 'Nam.
  I am from a time grandma and grandpa sang together while washing, drying, and returning the dishes, glasses, and silverware to their rightful place. The plates went into a cabinet with glass doors. During Christmas break, my brother and I broke the glass on the right cabinet door. We picked, cleaned, and swept the shattered glass and hoped no one would notice the missing glass. Our plan was to act surprised as everyone else if  or when discovered. While drying the dishes, grandpa opened the cabinet doors and placed the clean dishes inside. At one point he started putting the dishes into the right side of the cabinet...without opening the door! Suddenly, he stopped. He moved his right arm in and out of the door without glass, and turned his head to the left looking directly at my brother and me. We sat at the kitchen table, stone-faced and quiet. He quickly rejoined grandma and continued singing. He never mentioned to anyone about the broken glass and replaced it the very next day. He did ask us later that evening what had happened, and told us not to "lolligag" in the house. If we want to play, we needed to go outside, play in the barn, or in the garage. His silence taught me about character that day.
  I am from a time I watched my dad leave late on Christmas eve, looking out the bay window in the dining room once again. I somberly watched the red tail lights fade into the night. Mom stood behind me once more, her hand on my shoulder. It was the quietness I remember most.
  I am from a dysfunctional family in the midst of real, emotional scenarios. As I look back, I do think we gave it what we had and did our best to make room for Christmas in the heart.
  I am from a time when people were really no different from today.