I’m from the frigid hockey rink, where the ice sets in the winter. The benches packed with fans screaming, “LET’S GO RYAN!”. Those close games that would not be predicted until the last minute, always the most exciting.
I’m from the beach house, and the smell of ocean breeze to wake you up. Finding crabs at low tide, and tubing through the marsh. My grandma would always fall out of her tube, into the thick black mud.
I’m from the dining table, that taught me my manners and respect. I have respect for the fact that I have food on the table, three times a day, every day.
I’m from the sound of roosters crowing in the morning. They never fail to wake you up after eight A.M. Also the smell of manure, just down the road.
I’m from the cool water, down at the lake, where I spend my time in the summer, wakeboarding and tubing with friends. We would always sink the tube by leaning toward the front. Twice a year they let the dam out so that people can build sea walls, but I was always the one walking out to the sand bar.
I’m that hockey-playing, low tide-fishing, respect-giving, rooster-listening, fun-wakeboarding kid.
That’s where I’m from.