Photo credit: Johannes Plenio, via Pexels
...a little town in the mountains of Southern California. I carry with me a nostalgia for quiet streets, neighbors who feel like family, and snow on Christmas Eve.
My childhood was made of climbing trees, building forts in
vacant lots, snowball fights, bike rides all over the neighborhood, and stories
in front of the fireplace.
I left that small town, but carry the best of it within me.
I am from...
...parents who taught me the importance of keeping my word, to
believe in myself, and that kindness matters.
Throughout my life, I've called upon the lessons they taught
me. I haven't always acted as they would want me to, but I've built upon their
foundation as I slowly figure out who I am and who I want to be.
I am from...
...grandparents who were total bad-asses. My grandmother held
her family together when Germany occupied Belgium and she, my grandfather, and
my little six-year-old mommy moved into their cellar. Each time my grandfather
left, she didn't know if he'd come back. Yet she made living in the cellar as
normal as possible for my mother.
Near the end of the war, my grandfather was captured by
German soldiers, and on his way to being worked to death in a German factory.
With steely resolve and ice water in his veins, he saw one chance to escape,
took it, and lived to tell.
I am from...
...the combination of my genetic material, behaviors that were
modeled, and a drive to live up to what came before.
