I am from bedtime stories…

I am from Green Eggs and Ham, the Cat in the Hat
and The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins.

…from the poems of Ogden Nash and Edna St. Vincent Millay
three “L”ed llamas and unpicked flowers.

I am from fairy tales and the Brothers Grimm:
The scary versions that taught me that I could be afraid and still go on.

I am from bedtime stories read before I understood the concept of reading…
“Mother, how do you know when to speak loudly and to speak softly?”

Mystical shapes that dance together to make memories…

I am from Rikk-Tiki-Tavi—run and see—
the Jungle Books and Just So Stories—
The Elephant’s Child and the great, grey, greasy, green Limpopo River

I am from the Miracle of Purun Bhagat:

I am from twenty years a youth:

I am from family
third of four brothers
loving, caring, fighting…
HO trains and model cars
and Trudy the python who was only 27 feet long father!

I am from games…
Take it to the Dills’s
and they’ll tell you how to make it better.

But I am not from sports!

I am from museums:
Natural History, the Met…
Franklin Institute and the zoo.
I am from the staring in wonder at the world.

I am from schools with good teachers
Or at least they tried…
I am from…
“Bob, what is 3+4?”

“3+4…that’s addition…if I make three marks and four marks I can count them and that would make…well, that’s three 2s and one left over…addition is counting ones…4 can be made of two 2s, but 2 can’t be made of anything but 1s…3 is like 2…so are 5 and 7, but 9 is not…what is different about those numbers…is there a pattern…11…13…the only lonely even number is 2, all the other are odd…”

“Bob!”

“What was the question?”

I am from “Bob, how are you ever going to learn anything if you don’t pay attention?”

I am from poor spelling:

“Everyone write a story.”

“Wilyum cluched the ball and peared at the bater. A trikle of sweat ran down his back as the son beet on his back. He smiled. The sun was in the baters eyes. He leened back, koking his arm for the throuw. A flash of movemnet and the ball whisteled past the bater to the cacher’s mit. Strike won.”

At minus two points a spelling error, I could fail this assignment in one paragraph!

Erase, erase, erase…”Bill threw the ball.”

A “C” is passing isn’t it?

I am from “Bob, you aren’t trying!”

I am from section 7C…
Seventh grade, section C:

A is for the honors students, proud and smart,
B is for college prep, and D is for trade,
C is for us simple folk who should stick to art.

My friends were in 7A and 7B—
I never fit in again.

They never used the word stupid.
They were careful and progressive.
I am from you can say all the correct things you want,
but you can’t hide your eyes.

I am from a third grade teacher who took the time to see beyond
and wrote a note
and when later teachers were about to give up on me,
would read the note and keep trying,
so I never gave up on myself.

I was the third smallest kid in Junior High.

Between ninth and tenth grade, I grew.

I am from now looking down on those I had once looked up to—
and there is nothing spiritual about that statement.

I am from stage crew and art classes, marching band and concert band:
Trombone, Saxophone, and Bassoon.

I am from losing my brother to cancer two nights before starting my senior year in high school.
I am from unshed tears and a missing voice.

I am from the time of peace movements and acts of war:

I am from not understanding and asking questions.
I am from being told to shut up, believe, and follow.
Some wore their hair long and claimed they protested for humanity.
Some wore their hair short and claimed they defended humanity.
Neither side wanted my questions.
Shut up!
Believe!
Follow!
I am from not being able to tell the difference
except for trivial distinctions in dress.

I am from Mercutio: “A plague on both your houses!”

I am from twenty years a youth…

I am from twenty years a warrior:

Not all battles are fought in the military.

I was drafted.

I was taught to repair computers, to march and drill,
and I must admit I was taught to kill…

I never had to fire a weapon in anger.
I never had to strike another human.
But every day I take advantage of the rewards because other did.
Can I claim innocence of the acts if I partake of the rewards?

I am from being a paratrooper…
of watching trees dance by on the ground with the wind in my face
and able to step out into the void because…
I am from fairy tales that taught me how to deal with fear.

I am from those glorious moments,
hanging in the air,
floating with the wind,
in a quiet so complete I could hear my heart beat...
until the ground,
and responsibilities,
came up and smacked back into the world.

I am from moral choices made that no one will ever know.

I am from being praised for actions I am less than thrilled to admit
and being cursed for doing what I knew was right.

I am from a broken marriage that we were able to fix.

From failing to understand and failing to talk
and learning all over again, how to listen.
She came to me from a loud family without ever being on her own.
I came from quiet family of raised eyebrows and slow smiles.

We separated and she learned what it was like to be on her own.

I learned to ignore her volume;
she learned to hear my eyebrows.

I am from Valentine’s Day is for amateurs
who don’t know how to get it right the rest of the year.

I am from Desert Storm:

My wife’s foot was in a cast when I left.
My son did not recognize me when my family came for a last farewell,
and would hold up his arms to any man in uniform.

I am from eight months, fourteen hours and fifteen minutes
of being completely alone.
My commander had to be relieved.
My sergeants did not know how to lead.
My lieutenant was new to command and very good,
but she needed me to be the First Sergeant.

I am from a unit that had no divorces when we returned.
I am from a unit that incorporated those who went with those who stayed without prejudice.

And I am from appearing in the back of a fifth grade graduation six hours after landing to thank them for writing to me while I was away and receiving a standing ovation—that I was too tired to notice.

I am from twenty years a warrior.

I am from twenty years the head of a household:

He was small enough to fit in one hand when he was born.

My son learned to walk and talk while I was away at war.

He found the “Moom”, golden in the sky,
on the Garden State Parkway.

I discovered in my son’s wonder that I had gotten old in my perceptions;
that I had let the trials of life blind me to simple joys.

I am from the discovery
that through my sons’ eyes
I could be young again.

And I am from never being too tired to answer the question
“Why?”

I am from being laid off after 9-11 like so many others.

When he was in the sixth grade there came a time of doctors.
I am from watching my son only breathing because of the tube down his throat,
begging to see his classmates who never came.

I am from having to balance the need to be with him
with the need to find a job
so that if—when he recovered,
I could provide for his future.

I am from the fear that, being close to the same age as my brother when he died, that history was repeating itself.

I am from months of worry to finding that it was only a cyst that would block his throat when it was irritated. An hour of surgery and a day at home and now he only gets laryngitis like other people.

I am from substitute teaching:

Special needs students, which was fun,
math and music, which were fun
and remedial eighth grade English after a high sugar lunch
—I’d rather be back in the war.

I am from actually trying to teach as a substitute teacher
—which…confused…EVERYBODY!

Like me, my son was tiny and like me, he grew—in spirit as well as body.

He is going to change the world with genetic engineering
—or at least that’s the plan.

I am from knowing that his life will come out differently than he plans, but that he’ll be ready for it.

I am from twenty years the head of a household.

I am from the Miracle of Purun Bhagat.

If my begging bowl looks like a computer
and if my orange robe looks like blue jeans and a comfortable shirt,
and if my search for wisdom involves college campuses, books, and the Internet,
the quest is the same.

Each new concept resonates with a hundred memories
and the immensity of what is possible can be pondered
without measuring time in monetary worth.

I am from knowing that happiness is a habit and a choice.

I am from bedtime stories.