I am From... By Lynn Koerbel

I am from days and seasons of ordinary. Consistent. Regular.

I am from the middle class: the climbers, the possibility of wealth, leisure, luxury even—
and the risk of falling down, the risk of climbing over, the challenges in difference.

I am from Hamburger Helper and Kraft Mac and Cheese, Campbells’ soup and
pork and sauerkraut on New Year’s Day.

I am from tins of Christmas cookies piled in the freezer to be given away to friends and family, from bowls of popcorn on Friday nights, and birthday visits to Friendly’s.

I am from packages that serve 4—but we were 5, so there was always a little less on the plate.

I am from “I pay for the food,” so my father always got the biggest, the best, the helping with the extra. To my 8-year old mind, this did not seem fair.

I am from “ I love you” and “wait till your father gets home.”

I am from “I’ll give you something to cry about,” and “love your neighbor as yourself.” I am from contradictions—spoken and wordless—but felt, and I am still making sense of them.

I am from all the ways we gather and join, name and disavow. I am from being the third wheel, to being the insider… I am from “voted most creative” in high school to the one who was cancelled—in the way only third-graders know how to cancel.

I am from best intentions—and wonder, from essential goodness, packaged in some strange wrapping. Like you, I am trying to make sense of it all—and sometimes—often—a November sunset makes it all so clear, and I fall to my knees.