Where I'm From Poems

In EDU 3540, Language Arts in the Middle/Secondary Classroom we try out a number of creative writing activities from Linda Christensen's texts. (Christensen, Linda (2000). Reading, writing, and rising up: Teaching about the power of the written word. Milwaukee: Rethinking Schools.)
Last week the students and I worked on writing our own Where I'm From poems, based upon the original by George Ella Lyon.  I find it to be a wonderful way to help students discover what's important to them in their families, cultures, and upbringings. An interesting outcome is how responsive the students are to one anothers' writing. They also seem to loosen up some with this activity--the ones who are reluctant to answer questions or share seem to be more willing after we do this. I wrote with my students last semester, too, and made some revisions. Here's the latest...

I AM FROM STRONG STOCK—P. Rieman 9-19-12

 I am from strong women and absent men, always cats and books, from copper-bottomed pots and hand towels (which are not the same as dish towels!)

 I am from a tiny apartment on the second floor of an old white house, barely room to turn around. Living with a homecoming, prom, and penny carnival queen sister while I won the spelling bees.

 I am from Grandma and Uncle Dick and from the roses in Aunt Kay’s yard. From creaky old stoves, missing stairs, and “Mr.Otherland.” I’m from cribbage, euchre, double solitaire, King in the Corner, Spite & Malice, and jigsaw puzzles.  

 I’m from goofy klutziness, comparing bruises at get-togethers, stubbornness, getting the giggles, and reading on the couch with a cat on my lap. From shivering in the weak April sun trying to get the first sunburn of the year and being the first in the neighborhood to grill outdoors in the spring—snow, or no snow!

 I’m from “remember, it’s just as easy to love a rich man as a poor man” and “boring people get bored,” or, “is it time to be hungry yet?” or, “there’s no such thing as don’t like!” And singing, “Mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy, a kid’ll eat ivy too, wouldn’t you?”

 I’m from a dime in the birthday cake and Beaver Island every summer. From Ann Arbor and Dexter and the Isle of Man; Porterhouse steak, fried green tomatoes, and licking the pan after making fudge.

 Grandma’s letters to me are packed away in a dusty old box where I hope I can still find them. On the wall are pictures of Mom when she was well and happy, in my heart are memories of Mom as she lay dying. What else didn’t she tell us?

 I’m from a love of education and no suffering of fools, from self-reliance and the desire to give back. I am from strong stock.