I’m from a 16 year old mom in a judgmental time
         from football in the back yard, and wanting to
         throw the ball like the old man,
         I’m from dirt draped hands and a chocolate covered face,
         lying as she asked me what happened, like a puppy                    knowing what it did wrong.

         I’m from a tear filled goodbye to a laughter filled welcome          home,
         missing those in a flag draped coffin, and sent off with a              21 gun salute.
         From that white siding with bonfire and horseshoe
         pits in the back, and barbecues after church on Sunday.
         I’m from a “sorry son your mom and I just don't work,”
         hearing my mother’s cry, and crying along with her, and
         not crying anymore seeming impossible.
 
         I’m from a “we’ll get through this like we always do”
         moving like a crab from shell to shell .
         From death, heartbreak, distrust. And a
         grandmothers helping hand becoming a theme.
         I’m from Roscoe & Bear, my first bird dog gone blind
         and the dopey german shepherd with floppy ears.

         I’m from friends and family being there for me,
         and the love I never thought I’d have.
         I’m from Saturday Chiefs games to Friday night
         lights, thriving on the roar of the crowd.
         I’m from crisp foggy mornings on the boat looking for
         that trophy bass, and colder snowy mornings hunting
         that monster buck.

         I’m still from the same 16 year old mom, and few
         would believe it, but look how far we've come.