I AM

grilled cheese, Hockey Night in Canada, and a river that is only a creek

A little bit about me as I contemplate where I come from…

I didn’t take this picture, it was taken by Egemen Mustafa Sener, but this is exactly what it looks like where I come from.

I am from grilled cheese — ready for me to eat so I could watch The Flintstones when I came home from Avondale school for my lunchbreak.

I am from tequila and Canadian Club, contraband stolen from the parents, usually mixed in the same bottle.

I am from a prairie farm with an outhouse that my Mom would paint white every summer in an effort to spiff things up, just as I’m from a northern city with a strong skeleton of grain and arteries made of oil — home of the trumpeter swan.

I am from Hockey Night in Canada and Gord Downie giving us Ahead By A Century.

I am from acts of service in succession until our fingers bled and our souls ran dry, which is why we went to church on Sunday to sing Amazing Grace and replenish our souls so we can perform many more acts of service with no thought to what truly fulfills us, because you always know – service above self. The self must be buried.

I am from “money-doesn’t-grow-on-trees” and, while “it is never okay to call a boy”, I can do things far beyond what I am actually qualified for and hell-and-high-water will be moved to make sure I get a higher education.

Mom, Dad, and me at my christening

I am from the United Church of Canada who was the first church to ordain gay ministers, a turn of events my Mom welcomed wholeheartedly while my Dad left it undiscussed.

I am from Alberta, from strong pioneer stock, from perogies (even though our bodies carry not a drop of Ukrainian blood), and from homemade chocolate chip cookies.

I am from my mother’s brother, the one who fell into the well on the family farm, who managed to hang on by his fingertips for what probably seemed like an eternity but was likely only a few minutes until my Grandma heard him and got help which was a good thing because he was the one who managed to get married when ‘hell froze over’ (his words not mine) which turned out to be the coldest day on record in Alberta history so the wood stove in the country church had to be lit the night before and someone had to tend it overnight so it was warm enough for the wedding, just as I’m from my Dad’s sister who, after raising five children, would leave her husband and go camping alone and we would visit at her campsite by the river and it would take me many years to realize what a rebel she was because none of the women did that back then, and how amazing it must be to camp, alone, by a small river that we called a creek.

xoxo Donna

I’ve turned the comments off for this piece but all ❤️is very welcome. This exploration is based on a prompt by my writing teacher Jeannine Ouellette.