I am from novels, from tires, and bicycles.

I am from the living room, the sound of laughter, the television playing.

I am from the daffodils, the roses.

I am from lighting the Menorah on Chanukah and perseverance, from Melissa and Allen and John.

I am from humor and determination.

From “always do your best” and “life isn’t fair”.

I am from going to temple on Sundays, lighting the candles on Shabbat.

I’m from Sacramento and Poland, challah and soup.

From the darkroom in which grandma developed pictures, from the teeter-totter my grandpa played on in his backyard as a child, from the apartment where my dad flew flaming paper airplanes out the window.

I am from the scrapbooks hidden in the hutch that hold snapshots from the past.