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Family of eight

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I am from family dinners of eight,

(the entire family talking about their day’s event, eating Mom’s pasta).
I am from mornings starting at 5 and nights ending at 11,
not because I had something urgent, because there were chores.
I am from making crepes with Dad on Sunday morning
(an aroma so sweet my sisters’ mouths water from the moment they wake).

I am from 4am commutes to soccer games,
singing to Colin James the duration of the car ride.
I am from hot chocolate and hearty meal after a hard-fought match.
From 11pm practices under the lights.
I am from pick-up games with friends,
jumping a fence to get a freshly mowed field.

I am from a sudden move to another country,
this Country, the US of A,
from packing the house,
my chest knotting because I wouldn't see it again.
I am from keeping ties with friends,
although I’ve learned new ones aren’t bad either.

I am from sticking together through Dad’s stroke,
visiting for 30 minutes before doctors came in.
I am from family dinners of eight becoming dinners of six,
from keeping myself busy to avoid over thinking.
I am from Dad’s quick recovery,
a recovery that furnished each and every person’s heart with hope.

I am from triumph,
No matter the circumstance,
I am from reestablishing family dinners of eight.




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