I’m from playing tennis, basketball, and baseball.
I’m from a non-athletic family,
with nicknames Whitey and El Blanco.
I’m from North Shore Middle School
where a microwaved pencil led to silent lunches.

Completing things at the last second exemplifies a peev
I am from a family of five,
intense one point matches during family ping pong tournaments in the basement.
I am from Wisconsin football games,
smacking my lips as I smell juicy brats and burgers.

   I’m from spaghetti and lasagna,
And inhaling food for dinner.
I’m from sleeping in on Saturdays,
catching up on weekdays.
I’m from going to Mel’s plays and musicals,
And trying not to fall asleep.

I am from going to Brewer’s games,
my dad snagging a ball with his fingertips on my birthday.
I am from tennis,
making varsity only two years after starting to play competitively.
I am from transitioning to high school,
And learning to work harder in school.

I’m a memory box
from dislocating my arm to my brother’s puke flowing in the car.
I’m from car drives,
trying not to die while driving to D.C., Arizona, and Florida.
I’m a survivor.
Escaping the screaming wrath of my family