Family History
Apr. 16th, 2008 12:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jennythereaderLake Odessa
I go back,
to a town I never lived in,
and it is home.
Papa & Gramma B were born there,
grew up there,
were married there.
I hear the stories:
Grandpa McCartney's theater above the family store,
Papa and his brothers driving all the farm kids to school in the car they fixed themselves.
I stand in the cemetery,
and I have 150 years of my family in view.
From my cousin Treah, who was killed when she was eight
to my many-greats grandfather Jacob Fredrick, who settled on the farm after fighting in the War Between the States.
Grand Ledge
I go back,
to a town I moved away from when I was small,
and it is home.
Dad was born there,
grew up there.
Mom moved there as nearly an adult,
married there.
They started their family there.
I drive through town,
and I see traces of three generations.
The house Dad & his sisters grew up in,
now a business selling siding.
The church
where Grampa R was minister,
where Mom & Dad were married,
where the guys & I were baptised,
where I went to preschool,
where Gramma B and Aunt Kathy have sung in the choir as long as I can remember,
where we held Grampa R's funeral and I wept as the bagpipe played "Amazing Grace."
The cafe where I'd go to breakfast with Gramma B.
The downtown park where we'd feed the ducks,
and Fitzgerald park where we'd walk the Ledges,
with Dad taking us on the back trails that only folks who'd grown up there knew about.
I visit there
and unknown people with faintly familiar faces
stop me on the street
and tell me stories of my toddler-hood.
East Lansing
I go back,
to the town I spent my school years in,
and it is home.
In Spartan Village,
playing freeze tag on weekend afternoons
and flashlight tag on summer evenings,
climbing the Bumblebee Tree and the jungle gyms with children from all over the world.
My best friend was from Uruguay, my first crush was from Nigeria.
Going with Mom to hear Geraldine Ferraro speak when I was six.
On Northlawn,
my beautiful sunlit bedroom in our beat-up rental house,
living right across the street from the library
but having to walk half a mile each way because there were no closer crosswalks
Telling Mom & Dad we were going to the park,
but instead walking downtown to get Frostees from Wendy's.
Getting caught because Mom made us take Jon and three year olds can't keep secrets.
On Wayland,
sledding on Mickey Mouse Hill
exploring the woods of Burcham Park
eating tart apples from a neighbor's tree
The rhythm of life in my childhood:
Football on autumn Saturdays,
hearing the crowds and the marching band from halfway across town.
Spring has arrived when the smell of the freshly fertilized fields drifts into your bedroom window.
The Arts Festival means that summer will be here any day,
and the Michigan Fest means that summer is almost over.
"Welcome Back Students" signs sprout everywhere in August
and the quiet streets get noisy again.
As I grew older,
spending every moment I could Downtown and on campus.
Playing cards in Cafe V
reading in the university library
just hanging out in the Student Union.
Thrilled to the depths of my 16-year-old soul when someone thought I belonged with the college kids.
Reading everywhere
on a bench next to the river
in the gardens on campus
in the woods behind the high school.
Loving the places where my soul had taken root.
Albany
No need to go back,
I've lived here for nearly nine years,
but this place isn't home.
The people are what make this my home.
My love,
my friends,
people who saw me with fresh eyes
and let me truly see myself.
I go back,
to a town I never lived in,
and it is home.
Papa & Gramma B were born there,
grew up there,
were married there.
I hear the stories:
Grandpa McCartney's theater above the family store,
Papa and his brothers driving all the farm kids to school in the car they fixed themselves.
I stand in the cemetery,
and I have 150 years of my family in view.
From my cousin Treah, who was killed when she was eight
to my many-greats grandfather Jacob Fredrick, who settled on the farm after fighting in the War Between the States.
Grand Ledge
I go back,
to a town I moved away from when I was small,
and it is home.
Dad was born there,
grew up there.
Mom moved there as nearly an adult,
married there.
They started their family there.
I drive through town,
and I see traces of three generations.
The house Dad & his sisters grew up in,
now a business selling siding.
The church
where Grampa R was minister,
where Mom & Dad were married,
where the guys & I were baptised,
where I went to preschool,
where Gramma B and Aunt Kathy have sung in the choir as long as I can remember,
where we held Grampa R's funeral and I wept as the bagpipe played "Amazing Grace."
The cafe where I'd go to breakfast with Gramma B.
The downtown park where we'd feed the ducks,
and Fitzgerald park where we'd walk the Ledges,
with Dad taking us on the back trails that only folks who'd grown up there knew about.
I visit there
and unknown people with faintly familiar faces
stop me on the street
and tell me stories of my toddler-hood.
East Lansing
I go back,
to the town I spent my school years in,
and it is home.
In Spartan Village,
playing freeze tag on weekend afternoons
and flashlight tag on summer evenings,
climbing the Bumblebee Tree and the jungle gyms with children from all over the world.
My best friend was from Uruguay, my first crush was from Nigeria.
Going with Mom to hear Geraldine Ferraro speak when I was six.
On Northlawn,
my beautiful sunlit bedroom in our beat-up rental house,
living right across the street from the library
but having to walk half a mile each way because there were no closer crosswalks
Telling Mom & Dad we were going to the park,
but instead walking downtown to get Frostees from Wendy's.
Getting caught because Mom made us take Jon and three year olds can't keep secrets.
On Wayland,
sledding on Mickey Mouse Hill
exploring the woods of Burcham Park
eating tart apples from a neighbor's tree
The rhythm of life in my childhood:
Football on autumn Saturdays,
hearing the crowds and the marching band from halfway across town.
Spring has arrived when the smell of the freshly fertilized fields drifts into your bedroom window.
The Arts Festival means that summer will be here any day,
and the Michigan Fest means that summer is almost over.
"Welcome Back Students" signs sprout everywhere in August
and the quiet streets get noisy again.
As I grew older,
spending every moment I could Downtown and on campus.
Playing cards in Cafe V
reading in the university library
just hanging out in the Student Union.
Thrilled to the depths of my 16-year-old soul when someone thought I belonged with the college kids.
Reading everywhere
on a bench next to the river
in the gardens on campus
in the woods behind the high school.
Loving the places where my soul had taken root.
Albany
No need to go back,
I've lived here for nearly nine years,
but this place isn't home.
The people are what make this my home.
My love,
my friends,
people who saw me with fresh eyes
and let me truly see myself.
