Will They Remember?

The small, yellow-brick house
With only one bathroom and a dripping sink
And a front door that is impossible to close
That three generations grew up in
Will they remember?
Sitting at the kitchen table
Painting pictures, molding Play-doh, and carving pumpkins
Sitting for an hour trying to finish their dinner
Will they remember?
Walking with Daddy as he rototills the garden
Raking big piles of leaves and sifting out the walnuts
Podding peas and shucking corn on lawn chairs
And wading knee-deep in our irrigated yard
Will they remember?
Our family grows together
As we walk the Riverwalk trail on Sundays
Run on the track across the street
Drive together chasing heavy black rain clouds
And huddle on the sofa for storytime.
Will they remember?
In a small house packed with chaos
Wrestling
Laughing
Long stories
And movies with microwave popcorn
Will my children remember how they were raised?

Where I Come From

At Creative Communication, we frequently receive poems that portray the lives we have lived. I've been dying to write one, so here goes:


I'm from kick-the-can and hide and seek
And moonlit talks with the neighborhood kids
From bike rides with my sister to the park
Sewing little white dolls in loose stitches
And permanent marker faces
I'm from a jar full of snails to have as friends
Only to release them into the street
From Saturdays picking raspberries and grapes
And drying apples all night long
I'm from camping in our backyard
And hiking up the mountains just blocks from my house
From oversized Bum Equipment T-shirts
And thick, greasy headbands
To getting my ears pierced
Only to see my crush wearing the same gold studs
I'm from waking up to the sounds and smells of Dad cutting the grass
To lying beneath our huge Sycamore during a windy night
I'm from a kid-filled neighborhood with my crush across the street
And my best friend just around the corner
I'm from early summertime walks before the sun came up
To trekking to Antelope Island on my bicycle
From "Ask the neighbors if we can put their leaves in our yard"
To "Don't play in the front yard; I want the snow to look nice!"
I'm from spying out the window
And sweating on my first date
Putting our cat to sleep
And moving away to college
I am from Centerville
A home I will never return to
With memories I will never forget.