I am from

June 7, 2012
By PaisleighT BRONZE, Oshkosh, Wisconsin
PaisleighT BRONZE, Oshkosh, Wisconsin
4 articles 0 photos 0 comments

I am from hiking in Marilla Park, the crisp autumn leaves crackling beneath my Barbie brand light up tennies. My endless hours of being consumed in my Polly Pocket world defined my elementary school summers.

I am from flipping pages upon pages late into the night, quickly turning the bed light off when my parents walked by. From making homemade cherry pies during summers at grandmas, from cranberry sauce and stuffing that filled my stomach my entire fifth grade year.

I am from late night card games at my uncles table, eating homemade doughnuts, candies and cake. From mid-day golf-cart trips out into the fields, only to get stuck and push all the way back, from fishing with bamboo poles for the imaginary creatures that live in the pond.

I am from the warm sand and salty air of the deep blue ocean, now filled a weeks worth of timeless memories. From the pier where I watched the dolphins run across the perfect blue waves, the late nights of beach walking, searching for sand crabs. From small town southern accents and the hot Carolina air that carries the scent of chocolate and cheese biscuits throughout the acres.

I am from the ovens warm air as it wafts the scent of home-baked chocolate chip cookies into the ESPN and brother filled living room. From nightly dinners with the family at the dining room table, insanity by barking dogs and the lullaby of a cat purring next to my head as I drift into my dreams.

I am from my mothers Clinique happy perfume waking me up in the morning.
My mom’s heels clicking down the steps in the morning as I eat my cocoa pebbles, my brothers “rapping” while I make the coffee, my dad’s computer blaring familiar music.

I am from my chasing fireflies into the night and seeing how many I need to light up a room, biking to the video store for candy bars, raiding the garage for tiny treasures. From weeding the strawberry patches and hunting for stray kittens, the sound of a whiffle ball whizzing by ear as I escape the danger zone of the make-shift ball diamond.

I am from my daddy’s lap that can never be outgrown, too full, or too busy to visit. My mother’s ear that always listens

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