I am from Robert Wesley Lowder and his wife, Sally, who bootlegged their way through the 1870s.
I am from a truck driver, whose second wife tried to burn his house down with him inside, and
I am from the woman he returned to, who could see chickens through the slats in her floors and split ten pieces of bacon eight different ways.
I am from a family of entrepreneurs and go-getters that never said “no”.   
I am from a pregnant belly painted like a clown, and hastily washed off because of a panicked mother.
I am from a soft yellow blanket that I finally sewed the hole in, 17 years later (both my mother and I came home from the hospital swaddled inside of it).
I am from cookies I called ‘do-dos’ and the spaghetti sauce I ran through my hair at age one.
I am from “Daddy… please read this” and handing him a Bible that I know he never looked at.
I am from a loser that I have evolutionized from over time, and I can’t wait to show that that that I succeeded without him, and I will never think of him as my father.
I am from the soft hands of my mother, protecting my ears and shielding my heart.
I am from spending the night at Nana and Papa’s house, and feeling loved despite who we left at home.
I am from dogs named Jay-Dee and Drew, and a funny one I don’t remember named Maxie Boy (a tempermental shih tzu who lived up to the name of his breed).
I am from my forgotten past, and trying not to dwell on people who don’t know me anymore, who left not only my family and I, but every good thing that comes with us.
I am from leaving recordings on my Nana’s answering machine when I thought she could hear me… “I look [a]dorable Nana… I wanna go [to the] Mall!”
I am from a miniature cocker spaniel beanie baby that I dressed in barbie doll clothes and took to preschool, into Mrs. David’s class.
I am from my peers, Ava, Nolan, Kaya, and Joshua, who flooded my first few school years with laughter and kindness.
I am from someone who reached out to me when I felt abandoned.
I am from Adam Harris and the Blockbuster store he managed.
I am from quirkiness, shyness, nerdiness, and awkwardness that I called out and made people laugh about. 
I am from, “This is my Nana… She’s 50!”
I am a father with his own battles, battles he fought for us, not just for himself.
I am from “My kids aren’t quitters, and neither am I”.
I am from Granapple, who I gave the name to, and don’t remember why.
I am from the Butterfly Mall, the Green Mall, and the Carousel Mall, and every picture with Santa I ever took.
I am from muddy bricks stained and dyed by the sun.
I am from stories about my MauMau’s award-winning house down in Hazelwood, and peonies that earned her best home in town.
I am from a Buffalo dime given to my Nana by a man in the nursing home she worked at… it still sits in her bathroom jewelry dish, and when I hold it I feel its history.
I am from Torrey-Anne, Covered Bridge, Glen Brook, Preston Circle and Greenshire Lane.
I am from rollie pollies trained by Houdini, or perhaps let out the door by my clever mother (after I closed my eyes or walked away).
I am from weeping willows and salads made for rabbits, left beneath the swaying branches with love and constant anticipation.
I am from a blanket called ‘Fringie’ that I refused to leave at home.
I am from Emma, American Girl Dolls, and shared blue and red slurpees.
I am from unapologetic enthusiasm and theatrical dancing: ballet, tap, hip hop, and jazz. 
I am from fluffy pink dress-ups with purple lace and rose trimmings.
I am from Assumption and joining the hot chili peppers jump rope club, and performing despite not being the best (I tripped, but I liked it anyway).
I am from the song I made in first grade, “Boo, I Scared You”, that I have yet to rewrite into something memorable.
I am from frosted branches that I tug on like church bells ringing through the solemn winter air.
I am from forgetting passwords and remembering them at 10 pm, only to nod off and forget them again.
I am from the first story I ever wrote, The Chicken Princess and the Haunted House.
I am from Might and Magic, and the worlds I shared with my Real Dad… and the skeleton soldiers, obviously. 
I am from triumphing over boundaries I was afraid to cross, only to reach a hill I couldn’t see the top of… and leaping over that one, too. 
I am from Teen Ink, and being published 10 times before the age of 18… and counting; I have 5 months left.
I am from “Hewwo”, protesting against spring water when we could have purified instead, and the lavish castle I have built in my head to house the secret world of The Girl With Ivy Arms.
I am from trying harder, pushing the limits I thought had expanded to eternity, and launching my grappling hook out into space to hopefully anchor myself somewhere out there.
I am from time spent milling over the lives of those I love, and learning to follow my dreams, too.
I am from 7 siblings, and the best family I could ever want, ask for, and need.