I liked this piece enough to blog it.
It's an assignment for my Principles of Writing Instruction class. We had to write a piece on "Where I'm From...".
Enjoy.
If you ask me where I’m from, I’ll probably just say I’m from Michigan. However, this might be oversimplifying by a bit.
I am born of sacrifice, service, a warrior spirit in a warrior line. I am born of Norwegian tundras and American battlefields, Viking reavers and steel Coast Guard cutters. I am born of the marshes of the Chesapeake Bay, the plantations of central Virginia and the hollows of the West Virginia mountains. I am born of tradition and hardship. This does not matter. I am who I am, who I choose to be. This is all that matters; I am shaped by the blood that flows within me. Context is nothing. Context is everything.
I am from the winter snow that
falls
falls
falls
without end, from the shores of an inland sea crowned with the jagged, broken ice of a dozen frozen weeks. I know that the darkest days hide a slumbering juggernaut of light, that the onslaught of spring is an irresistible force and that the flowers will always someday bloom.
I am from the hidden valleys that rest in the shadows of ancient mountains, rounded, tree-shrouded, and dignified in their age. The leaves turn into bright, incandescent flame as the sun drops lower every day, and so I know the beauty and the light inherent in deepest shadow.
I am from the fire and the light, the explosions that marched across my peripheral vision, and the drugs that rushed through my tortured veins. I am a veteran of the outlanders, the lost and misunderstood, and with my band of brothers and sisters I forged the steel that allowed me to overcome the devastation I wreaked upon myself. I know that there is no more terrible and mesmerizing beauty than the beauty that comes in the hours of our destruction.
I am from the stereos and car rides, the long conversations about everything and nothing, the shared moments that have defined the family I’ve chosen, and made them as important as the family I was born with. I know the beauty of my tribe, the glowing light of the connections formed in our deepest sorrows, and the joy of overcoming our mistakes and growing up together.
I am from the shining eyes of an infant child, crying as she’s passed around a dozen honorary aunts and uncles, fading to sleep as she’s passed back to her mother, who rocks her to sleep as everyone present swears an oath to protect this little girl from our mistakes. I know that the things I’ve been through have forged my latent iron into steel, and that I will use these mistakes as fuel to accomplish something good with my life.
I am from my past, the mistakes I’ve made and the good I’ve wrought. I am from my heritage, my context, and the decisions I’ve made. I am from the places that have shaped me and the people that have become my own in every way but blood. I am from my blood.
I am from places I’ve never been before and people I’ve never met. I am from a jail cell, a college, a middle-class house, a low-rent apartment, a dingy basement and the top of a lighthouse.
If you stop me and ask, though, I’ll probably just say I’m from Michigan.
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