I Am From

I am from Appalachian women Who wore faded cotton cobbler aprons all day And who canned tomatoes, green beans, and corn in the sweltering August heat. I am from a car and airplane mechanic Who claimed that he could fix anything but a broken heart And who was proud that his daughter could drive a stick shift. I am from a family of packrats Who hoarded discarded boxes, bags, and containers And who bragged about how little they paid for presents they gave. I am from a working-class neighborhood Where older kids tricked younger ones into getting chased by crotchety neighbors And where my two-wheel bike was resurrected from someone’s trash. I am from high school girlfriends Who scribed research reports for their athlete boyfriends And who too often ended up pregnant before graduation. I am from an inner-city, Dayton high school That offered no home court or field for its teams And that matriculated more students to factories than college. I am from a smarter, older brother Who created his own chemistry lab in the basement And who grew up to become a first-generation rocket scientist. I am from a penny-pinching family Who treasured books as providing remedies for all problems And who expected its children to get an education in order to obtain a better life.

Nancy Mack