This page is devoted to a writing project that I came across at Fragments
~ from Floyd in a post titled Where
are you from? The project is based on a beautiful and touching poem called Where
I’m From by George Ella Lyons. The challenge is to write a similar poem
based on your own experience and background. Fred, the blogger who lives in
Floyd, even helps out with a sort of fill-in-the-blank
guideline/template to help out the non- and timidly-poetic among us. This
page collects Where I’m From poems written by readers of The Happy Husband.
I would like to encourage everyone who reads this to write their own. It’s
a wonderful, possibly even therapeutic exercise. E-mail me your own Where
I’m From and I’ll add it to the page (happy-at-atimelikethis-dot-net).
I am from books,
from teddy bears and little red wagons.
I am from the oil-covered roads in the sandbox.
I am from the honeysuckle bush,
from the bois d’arc
and its sticky, brainy fruit.
I am from hunters, from farmers, from storytellers and song leaders,
from Joe, and J.C., and Curtis, who (I) never knew.
I’m of the frigid feet, the weak eyes, and the strong heart.
I’m of the doodle, june, and lightning bugs.
I am from the snake snapper and the road builder,
from peanut butter crackers and chocolate-covered pretzels.
I am from washer pitchers, rocket launchers, and arms that emanate infinite
I am from treasure chests, from toy barrels, from loving kitchens,
and from sloping yards and vibrant trees that dropped nuts as well as leaves.
I am from pencils, from Welch’s grape juice and Skippy peanut butter.
I am from the big wooden easel and the soft-smelling pastel blanket.
I am from June bugs at night and honeysuckle in bright sunshine.
I am from Christmas stockings filled with fruit and nuts, short stature, from
Papa and Mama, and from Granna.
I am from laughter and tears.
From silly sayings and bedtime stories.
I am from God, who wants me always to do the right thing.
I am from the lone star state, from salsa and pralines.
From the strong widowed grandmother, the hard-working father, the tender housewife.
I am from the old oak desk, the little colored box, the laughlines on my face.
Where MCF‘s From
I am from comic books, from Doritos and Transformers.
I am from the suburban northern shores of Long Island.
I am from the pachysandra, the crocuses
I am from lasagna with turkey on Thanksgiving and black hair, from Nicholas
and Christina and their parents, of whom I’d only briefly known one.
I am from the big ears and taking food at a function because it’s free.
From "don’t make sudden movements" and "don’t show fear; they
can smell fear" and "If Nicky would just hit them back ONCE they’d
leave him alone Mr. and Mrs. MCF".
I am from CCD and church every Sunday.
I’m from New York and Italy, Pasta and Chicken(hold the broccoli).
the musical mechanical father, the gardening/singing/and long-before-I-knew-her-painting
mother, the crazy aunts, the humorous uncles, and the far more talented
and successful cousins.
I am from albums in my parents’ room, every notebook
and textbook from 16 years of school, and innumerable portfolios of drawings
than others, but all rich with meaning and memory, making it impossible
to ever part with them.
Where Rey‘s From
I am from computers, from Old Navy and Star Wars.
I am from the urban and dark badlands of the heart of south ozone, queens.
I am from the ivy, violet and oak, the vine, the branch or twig that has been
I am from Christmas crazy games and very loud yelling, from Reynaldo and Consuelo
and Paco and Liopo.
I am from the artistic, and fiery.
From no sharks at that beach and no sharks in the pool.
I am from the life preserver
and savior, I’ve bowed not at the cross.
But looked and I’ve found and counted His cost.
From my knees I did
fall before the One Lord and King. My Life, My Love, the Ruler of Everything.
from Queens, Dominican Republic, or maybe even Spain, Arroz con pollo
From the high blood pressure bursting an eyeball, the person fighting Trujillo,
and the brother who saw a teddy bear coming right up those stairs.
I am from a box long gone and kept at my parents house so now starting
afresh with new memories and family with small shoeboxes lining the top
of my closet.
Where Stacy‘s From
I am from blue jeans, from Pepsi and books.
I am from the Keystone state, mountains, rolling hills, meandering streams
I am from the grass, the dandelion and cool, wet dew on toes and tomatoes,
plump and juicy red, ripening in the sun.
I am from Sunday dinners at Grandma’s
and good behavior above all else, from Nana, from Pappy and Daddy.
I am from precious few hugs and too many tears. From the emotionally
withdrawn and the critical.
From children being seen and not heard and respecting one’s elders.
I am from
sin saved by the grace of a loving Father.
I am from loving my neighbor (who ever he is) with action and deed, not word
I am from teenagers, testing my knowledge, challenging my comfort zone
and forcing me to grow.
I’m from Pennsylvania, born and bred. It’s
where they will bury me. From
the keilbasa to the peirogies and halushki, from the Steelers to
pop (but not soda), it’s where I’m from.
Where Jerry‘s From
I am from the desert, from rock and sand.
I am from the compulsory air-conditioning of heat-soaked Las Vegas.
I am from the palm tree, the green colored small stones that substitute
I am from yelling and arguing, from Father and Mother and children.
I am from the loathing and blame and failure. I am from "women are meant
to be servants" and "the only thing that matters is money."
I am from "we’re Jewish, that’s what we are" without any regard
for God or tradition. I am from rejecting that and building a relationship
I am from New York, transplanted to Las Vegas, from TV Dinners
and all of the chores I did for my family while they did little.
I am from the Cinderella-complex, the servitude to my older brothers, and
the care-taking of my younger sister.
I am from breaking all of these patterns
and forging a new way, from raising my son to treat people with love and
respect. I am from my salvation, from a life that has discovered responsibility
is not a bad thing. I am from the ability to enjoy people, from my life-long
friends and new found loves. I am from not being my father’s son but a child
Where Jeff‘s From
I am from road trips with friends, from Twinkies, laughter,
and long walks.
I am from the rolling hills of Texas and from the rich, dark
prairies stretching to the east.
I am from summer trips to the heartland.
To where the tall Germans live among the fields.
I am from turns in the road, points on a map, the towns
along the way.
I am from my family.
From Bernard and Lana, my wonderful parents.
From Tammy and Gil, from Walt, Ira, Helen, and Nita.
From uncles and aunts and cousins and cousins and cousins.
I am from funny jokes,
from awkward moments as a teen.
I’m from the place where the flying purple-people
eater still lives.
I am from God.
Who is among the youth,
the music and the camps,
the worship and the praise,
the friends and the people I meet.
I am from God.
I am from Ireland and Germany.
From Scotland and America.
I am from the Alamo,
a battefield in Missouri,
a cliff on the California coastline,
a late-night drive through the Yucatan.
I am from the people in those places
I am from Tex-Mex food and meatballs and fried okra.
from September 11th.
My birthday and my grandfather’s as well.
This is where I am from.
Where Tina‘s From
I am from cookie dough candles, from Swiss
Miss hot cocoa and canned whipped cream..
I am from the uneven pavement rough on my small bare, running free with
the wind in my hair. feet.
I am from the deep purple lilac blossom, the apple
tree blossoms floating in the spring breeze.
I am from Christmas Eve gatherings
at Grandma’s house and stubbornness, from Mom and Dad.
I am from the slightly
sarcastic and wordless love.
From the arms of Jesus and precious in His sight.
I am from Evangelical Christianity.
I am a sinner redeemed by the grace of Jesus Christ.
I am stone being polished into a perfect, flawless gem.
I am the apple of my Father’s eye.
I am a Princess, adopted into the royal family.
I am learning to be meek.
I’m from Upstate New York via Germany and Lithuania,
spinach dip and homemade bread and butter pickles.
From the Grandmother who
gave her life to Christ when I was born and who’s prayers protected and prepared
me to receive the gift of Christ’s sacrifice,
that God does hear prayers and that He answers in His own time that He is always faithful,
and the oldest child of my mother.
I am from monkeys, and
Care Bears, from computers and blue jeans.
I am from the mystical mountains and red and gold leaves.
I am from the
desert, the Rainbow, the sunshine, the cactus.
I am from Grandma’s wonderful
cooking, baking and holiday dinners, not talkative, from Faulkner, Rogers
and Griffith; Jurczykowski and Richard.
I am from the Big Sillies and weirdos
I From "stop talking or I’ll sit you next to someone who doesn’t speak
english", "just eat two big bites please," and the
black cat and rubber ball.
I am from God; in his likeness.
I am from Jesus, in whom I was justified.
I am from women who love God, and friends who loved me.
burritos and dinosaurs, sugar toast and kielbasa.
From the mechanic father
and wonderful mother and Paco, the crazy uncles and monkey buzzards and
garbanzo beans, the cousins who spent summers
I am from the boxes under my grandmother’s table, the huge
pictures on the wall, and in the frilly albums made by a friend.
Where Deb‘s From
I am from the golden state; California, from sunshine and Santa Ana winds;
from mountains and seashore, desert and forests.
I’m from a heart of gold (broken many a time), and patience in the extreme;
from hard work, and selfless giving.
I’m also from a wandering eye,a wayward heart and a heated temper.
I’m from home-cooked meals (made from scratch), quilting and crocheting
I’m from 18 wheelers, hauling produce, both day and night; from eyes that twinkle
with mischief and a big booming laugh.
I’m from a small coffee shop in a busy city, where the women look sophisticated,
and the men always look tired.
I am from road trips in a beat-up red chevy station wagon; waking up on
foggy mornings in Pismo Beach.
I am from rides on cable cars, strolls through Golden Gate Park, and shopping
in the basement of The Emporium on Market Street.
I am from sparklers on the 4th of July, camping under the almond trees, and
from flashlight shows on the walls of tents.
I am from back scratches and midnight secrets.
I am from the garden, with dirt under my nails and worked deep into my fingertips.
I am from the artistic supplies of ink and paper, scissors and glue, rubber
stamps and ribbons.
I’m from cruise ships, and picture postcards, and dreams of future destinations.
I’m from the laughter of children, from wet messy kisses, and fierce hugs
around my knees.
I am from the tender of heart.
Where Rebecca‘s From
I am from forests and fjords of the north, whose tribes flooded Finland and
France and so forth.
I am from nature, the lush of the earth, lover of green and reveler in mirth.
I am from Eleanor, Richard, and John, the Plantagenets of the Anglo-Saxon.
I am from land, of the lines and the lots, from the lords and the ladies on
I am from Separatists Pilgrims they’re named, of Plimouth Plantation,
and freedom reclaimed.
I am from yearners and martyrs of old, redeemed by the Christ, and redeemers
I am from Lexington, Bunker, and Breed, I am from stock stubborn in creed.
I am from patriots paid with the land, of wilderness flats and freshwater sand.
I am from Scots, Belgians, and Dutch, from English, and Indian and numerous
I am the red, the white, and the blue, from hard-headed thinkers and Yanks
who "make do."
I am the child of the Boomers and Greats, the generation of X’s and stepchild
I am from punk, from tv, from AIDS, from contras, Chernobyl, and apartheid
I am from Reagan, Thatcher, and Di, from Gorby and Bork, and the Challenger
I am from homes with no moms or no dads, public schools’ engineering,
and valueless fads.
I am from prophets and prayers of the saints, who cried for a remnant that
held to constraints.
I am from voices from earth to the throne, from the spirit of Daniel to pray
and to groan.
I am from purpose, the posterity dreamed, from those of lost heritage
we hope to redeem.
I am from mothers and fathers today, I am from movers and shakers who pray.
I am from surfers, from bloggers, and techs, from those who won’t see a SS
I am from thinkers and cynics and speakers, from Scrapple, from Ann, from
conservative truth seekers.
I am from self-government coursing through veins, prepared to return sacred
I am from voices now rising as one, there’s change in the wind, and it’s only
I am from shag carpet, from My Little Ponies, Dr. Who and a scratched window
I am from the brown house by the river, far from the road.
I am from the old
birch trees, the daffodils, and kaleidoscopic pansies.
I am from anxiety and
I am from Christmas Eve tree-trimming parties and defensive stubbornness,
from David and Ruth-called-Kim.
I’m from "You’re a California Girl and
don’t you forget it" and "Life
isn’t working the way the instruction manual said it would."
I am from
conversion from atheism to Catholicism, via my parents.
I’m from San Rafael
and Northwestern European cross-breeding, from pasta with pesto and Black Magic
Cake and using the good silver every day.
From home-schooling and home-cooking, and weeding the garden with the sun hot
on my back.
I am from "Sam the Gazebo" and other stories my mother
invented and told to me.
I am from overcast skies, drizzle, and soul-chilling
dampness. I’m from
heating the house with a woodstove.
I am from my mother’s playfulness and my
I am from flowering in college; I am from two and a half years in Alaska
encompassing great beauty and great pain.
I am from the spreading peace and
joy of my marriage to my husband.
I am from records and books, from Barbie Dolls and Kmart Frozen Cokes.
am from the double-lot back yard, lush and eternal lawn, smelling like dog
I am from the basement playroom, covered in Mickey Mouse yet cold
I am from the sweet carnation, the Rose of Sharon tree.
am from Santa visits on Christmas Eve and holiday dinners, fromArizonaand
Luigi and Victor.
I am from the quick, regrettable anger and unconditional love.
snatch you bald-headed" and "I love you with all my tummy" (because
my tummy was bigger than my heart).
I am from Pioneer Girls, Bible Quizzing
and blessing the Easter baskets at SaturdayMass.
I’m from Motown and Italy,
Grandma’s homemade spaghetti sauce and soup
beans with fried taters.
From the time Grandma laughed while drinking
a Boston Cooler. It went out her nose.
I’m from David
not wanting the purple donkey, so it showed up in a gift when we least expected
I am from shoe boxes, closets and overflowing dresser drawers.
Lord & Taylor boxes that show up out of nowhere and an old house full
to the gills with "stuff".
From scrapbooks and home movies,
and hard drives full of pictures of people no longer on this earth, but still
in my heart.
i am t. t i am. i knew well, that sam i am!
i am from an urban ‘burgh,
before it was necessary to lock the front door.
i am from mr. roger’s ‘hood,
where i was taught that i am good.
i am from loving parents who’s hearts i know now.
i am from siblings who still make me smile.
i am from a stage of youthful rebellion,
of flying too high and becoming a hellion.
i am from st catherine’s elementary school,
where nuns seemed well versed at wounding my soul.
i am from teenage elopement, annulment.
not feeling i had a voice in the outcome.
i am from sex and drugs and rock & roll.
bad choices and shame have taken their toll.
i am from repenting the errs of my ways.
though i’ll sure never forget those dark yesterdays.
i am from my first job at a retail shoe store.
i am from fate that sent me much more.
i am from deliverance from a turbulent sea,
rescued by steve, who loves the real me.
i am from marriage, it’s not without trials.
but it’s overcoming, that make it worthwhile.
i am from parenting two good loving sons.
i am from joy at the young men they’ve become.
i am from witnessing my parents’ last breaths,
in coming full circle, i learned from theirs deaths.
i am from being a good hearted agnostic.
my dear christian husband does not find me toxic.
I am from gratitude, love, and devotion.
accepting and growing from all life’s commotion.
I am from good, and it’s still getting better.
i’m growing younger and wiser than ever.
i am ok with me, are you??
I am ok with EVERYone too.
i am t. t i am.
do YOU recall that sam i am?
Where Jami‘s From
I am from coffee in the morning, from sitting in the backyard reading my Bible.
I am from the small town, a little brick house, with a flag proudly waving out
I am from picking daisies, and rolling down hills of freshly cut grass.
I am from the heart of unconditional love, A Father’s grace and a Son’s sacrifice.
I am from the short people and the soft ones.
I am from you don’t have to eat beets or beans.
I am from twins working together to reach a light switch, cooperating, celebrating.
I am from little sisters growing up and singing big.
I am from the mountains and the flatlands, the country and the city.
I am from cousins and circuses on swing sets.
I am from cattle guards, gravel roads and chicken yards.
I am from hearing the bell ring and running home for dinner.
I am from Chinese jump rope, Pogo balls and four square.
I am from school busses, cruising main and Loaf n Jug.
I am from big letter jackets smelling of sweet cologne.
I am from high school sweethearts, class rings and wedding rings.
I am from big bellies, little babies, and soft blankets.
From dirty hands, sticky kisses and sidewalk chalk, three little blessings.
I am from Sunday school, pizza after church, and an afternoon nap.
I am from old friends, missed friends and new friends.
I am from phone calls, emails, and dropping by to say hello.
I am from never being alone, always having family, always being loved.
I am from comfort and protection, cared for and needed.
I am from a hard workingman who comes home dirty and cleans up nice.
I am from freshly brewed ice tea and burgers on the grill.
I am from living a dream, and dreaming for more.
I am from little girls with brown hair, and little boys with blond.
I am from missing teeth, ribbons, bows, cub scouts, cars, bugs and tutus.
I am from Sesame Street, Veggie Tales and missing Mr. Rogers.
I am from every day miracles, hugs from little arms and hugs from big strong
I am from Faith, believing in my God, and knowing him more each day.
I am from remembering 4-19-95 and 9-11-01. Ribbons worn, flags raised and lives
I am from protecting the innocent, living strong, fighting for freedom and a
I am from the smell of rainy mornings, and the sound of stormy nights
I am from standing firm, defined values and no compromise of morals.
I am from cuddling up with a good book in front of a warm fire.
I am from a new box of crayons, and the first day of school.
I am from hope and not pain, faith and not fatigue, trust and not dismay.
I am from all of you.
Where Julie‘s From
I am from a bag of books, pencils and paper, from Heinz Tomato Soup and
bread and butter, from Cadburys.
I am from the chaos, the purple moments, the generosity and craziness of
wild ideas and schemes of those older and wiser than me.
I am from the dales, the moors the wild and windy east coast of Yorkshire
I am from hospitality and giving of self, I am from weeping and laughing in
equal measure, from mourning and rejoicing.
From the statue in City Square, Leeds and counting coins before I could count
I am from Churchianity and ritual until I was called by my Saviour to
be a Daughter of the King.
I’m from Essex,Yorkshire and Calvary, from wendy-maureen, alan and
wilf, and from Sunday dinner – roast beef and yorkshire puddings.
grandma driving a tractor through floods to deliver elsen buckets, little
nanny and shepherds pie, and a mum who drove to china in a camper van.
from photos and memories in boxes, in storage, in cabinets, from ornaments
that are broken but too precious to throw out, from old fashioned
cine films, postcard collections and the like.
I am from down pillows and quilts made by grandma, bedtime at eight (even in
the summer when the sun was bright), and a mom who was always tired and always
thought I needed a nap.
I am from buttered carrots and homegrown tomatoes, our own applesauce, and
bread baked from frozen dough.
I am from bated breath and tiptoes during Mom’s rests, and the sign on
the front door: “NAPPING. Do not ring doorbell. Do not knock.”
I am from Minnesota, land of ten thousand lakes (and the mosquitoes to go with
I am from the deep-freeze winter and the hot, humid summer and houses built
to withstand the extremes.
I am from a row of pine trees and a wooden swing in a giant oak; Dad’s
black dirt garden full of tomatoes and beans, cucumbers and peppers, rhubarb
I am from a happy church, Wednesday night programs, Sunday school, Vacation
Bible School and Christmas pageants.
I am from loving God and watching in confusion as others growing next to me
I am from yearly trips to the Rocky Mountains and Estes Park, long hikes, mountain
streams, marmots and thin mountain air.
I am from a father who studies the Word and confidently measures church doctrine
against this standard, whether it ruffles feathers or not.
I am from a model of commitment to righteousness lived out daily.
I am from a mother who loves Jesus and prays faithfully, even though she struggles
with hormones and emotions. Hmmm. Maybe I am become that, too.
I am from a German girl and an Englishman. (Some have postulated that this
is why I am at war with myself.) I’m from decency and modesty, and critiques
of manners that are probably ultimately rude. I’m from healthy food and
homemade food, hot bacon dressing over spinach, and cranberry relish with only
half the sugar (pucker). Now I am from Syracuse—I left the land of the
tall Scandinavian for the land of the short Italian. I rejected my mother’s
taste and started putting garlic in everything, because that’s what they
I am from hundreds of aunts and uncles and cousins, but there aren’t
any here, so instead of a riotous Thanksgiving with more potluck dishes than
you can sample, we eat alone, just the six of us, and I make the stuffing from
I am from moving across the country and trying to replace the family I lost
with four children of my own, and almost dying in the early part of the process.
I am from learning that God is my home.
I am from boycotting “Creative Memories” and losing the battle
of the babybook, but saving lots of dusty envelopes of snapshots in a wicker
I remember a closet shelf with boxes of slides and a slide projector I used
to know how to run.
And I remember another closet shelf with a box of black and white photos that
show us as children in and out of the light of sunbeams.
Where Shelley‘s From
I am from popsicles, deviled eggs and cinnamon toast
From kiddie morning shows like Captain Kangaroo, Mister Rogers and Sesame Street
I am from rocks on the road that I thought were diamonds
From the city, then the country, then the city again
I am from 4 peek-a-poo puppies and a black, border collie
From afternoon reruns of The Brady Bunch, The Monkees, and The Partridge Family
I am from hand-me-down clothes that I thought were first class
From Barbie dolls, library books, and mood rings
I am from old dirt roads and jalopy cars
From the Thursday night line-up of The Cosby Show, Family Ties and Cheers
I am from a wise rancher, a gentle seamstress, and a talented teacher who I
think hung the moon
From a little place known as MidAmerica
Where Paula‘s From
I am from buttered bread
sometimes with Welch’s jam.
I am from the hand pump on the back porch
that spewed out ice-cold water
and you weren’t really thirsty
but you had to take
your Saturday night bath.
I am from the lily of the valley
growing under the lilac bushes,
the scent sucked in just before
you handed them to Mama,
who loved them more than you.
I am from Sunday morning nip and tuck.
And dawdling ‘round from Uncle Bud,
cousin Toad and his counterpart, the Frog.
I am from the way we tease and laugh out loud.
From “Stop that squirming.”
And “Bow your head.”
I am from a Bible Mama plum wore out.
From Daddy’s faithful Christmas and Easter Sabbaths.
I’m from the middle of a little bitty place.
And from a rich Christian heritage
across the Rhine River in Germany.
And fried chicken. And apple pie
in a bowl with milk poured on.
From the toddler who drank fuel oil
putting scare into us all.
A vision of stomach pumps not quite real.
From the backyard wedding of my sister
and a reception in the woods where we
ate picnic style licking barbecue from our fingers.
I am from the tattered black pages of an album
Dad pulls out on his little whims.
Repeating names I’ve heard a thousand times
but won’t remember, he tells me I am from
these folks of buttered bread, hand pumps,
laugh out loud, and worn out Bibles.