Where are you from?
I find this to be a very interesting question. What do you mean from? Where I was born? Where I grew up? Where I call home? Where I go for the holidays?
Why do you ask? Are you trying to figure out my accent? What kind of food I might like? My religious or political leanings? Or maybe just who I am?
When people ask me this, I often say something like, "I'm from a lot of places." My husband Aaron says it is because I don't want to deal with the ramifications of saying , "I am from Texas." People have a lot of opinions about Texas. I do as well, good and bad. But while I was born in Houston, we moved away when I was five years old. Five. Years. Old. That is little. Here are the things I remember: a flood (my mom got mad when I put my face in the water running down the street- she probably knew then that I was crazy about water), eating dog food from my dog Shag's bowl (I thought it was cool because my dog Shag was cool. My mom let me know it was not cool), and playing with friends. Then we moved.
Minnesota. Montana. Colorado. New Mexico. Washington. And small bursts all around. Does a summer in Massachusetts count? How about a month or so in Baltimore? Or chunks of time travelling across Europe? Don't get me started on the travelling and how much that has affected who I am.
Where the hell am I from?
I am currently in Denver. I'm working a job out here. Staying with my cousin Dave. He's a free spirit. An outdoorsy type. He hikes and travels and climbs mountains. When I was little, I thought he was soooooo cool (still do.) He moved in with us when we lived in Littleton, Colorado. We moved here from Montana when I was nine. He stayed after we moved away. Got a job in Denver, bought a house, and has been exploring the great outdoors ever since.The facility I have to report to for this job happens to be in Littleton. I had no idea it was going to be so close to where I lived for a bit of time. So, yesterday I decided to drive by my old house and the neighborhood.
It was really weird.
Maybe everyone thinks about middle school (it was called junior high for me 'cause I am a bit old) as a not so awesome place. Ah... to be twelve. Gross. Hormones and awkward and bodies and boys and girls and feelings and...yuck. I suppose it is all kinda hard. But I had epilepsy. Yep. That thing where you have seizures and stuff. My epilepsy was mild. Mainly what they called petite mal seizures (you stop and just stare) but still, it sucked. If you ever want to be cool, it is in middle school and having seizures is never cool. Also, in 1983 epilepsy was still pretty strange. I mean, they weren't throwing me into the lake to see if I would float, but it was not awesome. Kids were mean. Teachers were dicks. Doctors tried but sometimes they were distracted. Parents did the best they could but it was hard and they also had to take care of a sensitive younger brother.
I learned to be weird in Littleton.
My parents are cool. My dad's a writer and an artist. My mom is progressive and outspoken, especially about women's rights. I wasn't in a household full of uptight conservatives. But they are "normal". No tattoos, no crazy stuff, good jobs, follow the rules, my mom often reminds me she has never even had a PARKING TICKET!
I, however, am a little bit weird.
And I think Littleton made me weird. Not because it embraced me but because it spat me out. It pushed against me. I was too little too understand, but I was different. I was struggling. I am certainly not trying to stereotype an entire town but Littleton just wasn't into weird. Aaron always says he wished I had gone to his middle school in Albuquerque. He says, "At Jefferson, we would have taken you in. We loved freaks."
Now, I am a grown-up and I let all that middle school shit go a long time ago but for years it hurt. It hurts to be different. To be made fun of. To struggle. To feel bad about yourself. Fuck you Littleton! You were mean to me! When I realized that I was right by my old school, I decided to get out and look at it.
It looks exactly as I remember it.
Where am I from? What city defines me? I would never say I am from Littleton, Colorado but I guess I am a little bit. I am who I am in a large part because of what I experienced here.
Where are you from?
I am from Texas. I am bbq, lakes, motorcycles, big gardens, chickens, the first time I heard that Jesus loves everyone (thank Grandma Etheridge), and family.
I am from Minnesota. I am ice skating, re-enacting Little House on the Prairie, bikes and big falls, first snow, and learning to say "you guys" not "y'all".
I am from Montana. I am dirt bike riding, eating a bug for a dollar, and not understanding why I can't go to a slumber party with 5 boys (My mom let me go after all. I mean, come on, they were my best friends!)
I am from Colorado. I am dragging my brother out of the creek after a sled accident, first kiss by a boy who looked like Ricky Schroeder, summer camp, and having a hard time that feels as though there is no end to the hard time.
I am from Washington. I am searching, finding, hiking, learning, and wondering. .
I am from New Mexico. I am creating, leaving, coming back, growing, open hearts, a different kind of family, falling in love and getting married.
I really am from a lot of places. I guess we all are.
The old house. Houses that are not made of adobe look weird to me now.
I find this to be a very interesting question. What do you mean from? Where I was born? Where I grew up? Where I call home? Where I go for the holidays?
Why do you ask? Are you trying to figure out my accent? What kind of food I might like? My religious or political leanings? Or maybe just who I am?
When people ask me this, I often say something like, "I'm from a lot of places." My husband Aaron says it is because I don't want to deal with the ramifications of saying , "I am from Texas." People have a lot of opinions about Texas. I do as well, good and bad. But while I was born in Houston, we moved away when I was five years old. Five. Years. Old. That is little. Here are the things I remember: a flood (my mom got mad when I put my face in the water running down the street- she probably knew then that I was crazy about water), eating dog food from my dog Shag's bowl (I thought it was cool because my dog Shag was cool. My mom let me know it was not cool), and playing with friends. Then we moved.
Minnesota. Montana. Colorado. New Mexico. Washington. And small bursts all around. Does a summer in Massachusetts count? How about a month or so in Baltimore? Or chunks of time travelling across Europe? Don't get me started on the travelling and how much that has affected who I am.
Where the hell am I from?
I am currently in Denver. I'm working a job out here. Staying with my cousin Dave. He's a free spirit. An outdoorsy type. He hikes and travels and climbs mountains. When I was little, I thought he was soooooo cool (still do.) He moved in with us when we lived in Littleton, Colorado. We moved here from Montana when I was nine. He stayed after we moved away. Got a job in Denver, bought a house, and has been exploring the great outdoors ever since.The facility I have to report to for this job happens to be in Littleton. I had no idea it was going to be so close to where I lived for a bit of time. So, yesterday I decided to drive by my old house and the neighborhood.
It was really weird.
Maybe everyone thinks about middle school (it was called junior high for me 'cause I am a bit old) as a not so awesome place. Ah... to be twelve. Gross. Hormones and awkward and bodies and boys and girls and feelings and...yuck. I suppose it is all kinda hard. But I had epilepsy. Yep. That thing where you have seizures and stuff. My epilepsy was mild. Mainly what they called petite mal seizures (you stop and just stare) but still, it sucked. If you ever want to be cool, it is in middle school and having seizures is never cool. Also, in 1983 epilepsy was still pretty strange. I mean, they weren't throwing me into the lake to see if I would float, but it was not awesome. Kids were mean. Teachers were dicks. Doctors tried but sometimes they were distracted. Parents did the best they could but it was hard and they also had to take care of a sensitive younger brother.
I learned to be weird in Littleton.
My parents are cool. My dad's a writer and an artist. My mom is progressive and outspoken, especially about women's rights. I wasn't in a household full of uptight conservatives. But they are "normal". No tattoos, no crazy stuff, good jobs, follow the rules, my mom often reminds me she has never even had a PARKING TICKET!
I, however, am a little bit weird.
And I think Littleton made me weird. Not because it embraced me but because it spat me out. It pushed against me. I was too little too understand, but I was different. I was struggling. I am certainly not trying to stereotype an entire town but Littleton just wasn't into weird. Aaron always says he wished I had gone to his middle school in Albuquerque. He says, "At Jefferson, we would have taken you in. We loved freaks."
Now, I am a grown-up and I let all that middle school shit go a long time ago but for years it hurt. It hurts to be different. To be made fun of. To struggle. To feel bad about yourself. Fuck you Littleton! You were mean to me! When I realized that I was right by my old school, I decided to get out and look at it.
Where am I from? What city defines me? I would never say I am from Littleton, Colorado but I guess I am a little bit. I am who I am in a large part because of what I experienced here.
Where are you from?
I am from Texas. I am bbq, lakes, motorcycles, big gardens, chickens, the first time I heard that Jesus loves everyone (thank Grandma Etheridge), and family.
I am from Minnesota. I am ice skating, re-enacting Little House on the Prairie, bikes and big falls, first snow, and learning to say "you guys" not "y'all".
I am from Montana. I am dirt bike riding, eating a bug for a dollar, and not understanding why I can't go to a slumber party with 5 boys (My mom let me go after all. I mean, come on, they were my best friends!)
I am from Colorado. I am dragging my brother out of the creek after a sled accident, first kiss by a boy who looked like Ricky Schroeder, summer camp, and having a hard time that feels as though there is no end to the hard time.
I am from Washington. I am searching, finding, hiking, learning, and wondering. .
I am from New Mexico. I am creating, leaving, coming back, growing, open hearts, a different kind of family, falling in love and getting married.
I really am from a lot of places. I guess we all are.
The old house. Houses that are not made of adobe look weird to me now.
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