I have a lot of things that need posting at the moment, but those will have to wait until I'm not sitting at an airport gate. For the moment, I just want to jot down a few thoughts.
The other day, Glo mentioned that I am "from" Michigan. Those words hit hard, because while yes, I call Michigan home now, I am not technically at all from the Mitten State. I am from the South. I was born in Big Spring, Texas (Howard county for any genealogists out there). My mother was born in Guthrie, Oklahoma, as were both of her parents. My father is from the East Coast. Seriously, generations of his family are from Pennsylvania, New York, Rhode Island, Massachusetts and New Jersey. However, I didn't grow up with him or his family, so I don't identify with them.
I loved growing up in Texas. It was the happiest time of my childhood. I had lots of friends at school (both public elementary for first, second and seventh grade, and private for third through sixth). I also had friends in my neighborhood.
The earliest memories I have are at my house on 37th street in Lubbock (yes, I still remember the address: 5714 37th St.). It was a track house that my mom and dad bought new. Three bedrooms, two baths. The backyard was fenced (as were all the yards) with an alley running behind the yards. Pretty much everything was brown and rather dead, it being West Texas and all, but it was home. I don't remember reading much in those days, but instead I would head outside to play with friends. All of the friends I can remember were boys. We would climb trees and ride our Big Wheels.
My mom moved us at the beginning of fifth grade. She was done with her residency, and was ready for a bigger and better house. 7807 Kenosha Avenue. I do believe with wealth comes families who don't play outside. My dogs and cats became my best friends once we moved, and every morning (no matter the weather) I would ride my bike around the block with our two dogs running through the rich people's yards (off leash). Yep, I guess my mother figured the people couldn't catch me on my bike and tell me to pick up the dogs' poop. To this day, I still can't believe that was okay.
I had a lot of connections to Oklahoma and New Mexico, seeing as my mother either had family from those places, or had lived in those places. Once my mom started getting paid as a physician, we would take weekend trips to Ruidoso, New Mexico. We would rent a house somewhere in Lincoln National Forest for the weekend. I would head off as soon as we parked the car. Into the mountains, by myself. I would hike for hours with no one else around. I loved those mountains.
And as far as family was concerned, my mom's great-aunt Ruth McMillin, lived in Guthrie, Oklahoma still. In fact, her house was the original house that her father had owned along the railroad. The family owned a store where people would buy things when the train stopped. Although the storefront was boarded up, it was like a time capsule. I would walk through the store, seeing old bottles of aspirin, and tins of gum and band-aids. Nobody had ever bothered to tear down the store, or open up the storefront, so there it stayed. Aunt Ruth would talk anyone's ear off. In fact, all of the McMillins seem to have the gift of gab. She would talk and talk and talk. I was polite and always listened, but I just wanted to head outside to play in the red dirt. Yes, the dirt was ochre red, and soft like talc. Aunt Ruth also had a car that she never drove. I remember hearing something about the car being 20 years old with only 3,000 miles on it. In the end, Aunt Ruth ended up living past 100 (and died only recently). While she sold off all of her father's antiques, my mother managed to get her grandfather's wall clock which hung in his office.
For Thanksgiving, we always ended up at "Aunt" Mary's and "Uncle" Abe's. I'd have to look at a chart, but I believe they were really first cousins, once removed to my mother. They lived in Denison, Texas (just outside of Dallas). They actually had an organ in their house, so I would spend most of my time, playing around on that. They didn't mind, seeing as both of them were basically deaf. Thanksgiving dinner was full of everything Southern: corn, green beans, fried okra. "Aint" Margaret was their daughter, and I remember her being friendly but very loud. My mother stayed in contact with her until she died recently also.
I loved living in Texas. In fact, when my mother decided to move us to Michigan when I was 13 years old, I figured Michigan would be just as lovely. I learned quickly that the Texan hospitality doesn't exactly extend that far North. However, I've come to love it too. However, no matter what I say or where I live now, let it be known that I am a Southerner, through and through.
The other day, Glo mentioned that I am "from" Michigan. Those words hit hard, because while yes, I call Michigan home now, I am not technically at all from the Mitten State. I am from the South. I was born in Big Spring, Texas (Howard county for any genealogists out there). My mother was born in Guthrie, Oklahoma, as were both of her parents. My father is from the East Coast. Seriously, generations of his family are from Pennsylvania, New York, Rhode Island, Massachusetts and New Jersey. However, I didn't grow up with him or his family, so I don't identify with them.
I loved growing up in Texas. It was the happiest time of my childhood. I had lots of friends at school (both public elementary for first, second and seventh grade, and private for third through sixth). I also had friends in my neighborhood.
The earliest memories I have are at my house on 37th street in Lubbock (yes, I still remember the address: 5714 37th St.). It was a track house that my mom and dad bought new. Three bedrooms, two baths. The backyard was fenced (as were all the yards) with an alley running behind the yards. Pretty much everything was brown and rather dead, it being West Texas and all, but it was home. I don't remember reading much in those days, but instead I would head outside to play with friends. All of the friends I can remember were boys. We would climb trees and ride our Big Wheels.
My mom moved us at the beginning of fifth grade. She was done with her residency, and was ready for a bigger and better house. 7807 Kenosha Avenue. I do believe with wealth comes families who don't play outside. My dogs and cats became my best friends once we moved, and every morning (no matter the weather) I would ride my bike around the block with our two dogs running through the rich people's yards (off leash). Yep, I guess my mother figured the people couldn't catch me on my bike and tell me to pick up the dogs' poop. To this day, I still can't believe that was okay.
I had a lot of connections to Oklahoma and New Mexico, seeing as my mother either had family from those places, or had lived in those places. Once my mom started getting paid as a physician, we would take weekend trips to Ruidoso, New Mexico. We would rent a house somewhere in Lincoln National Forest for the weekend. I would head off as soon as we parked the car. Into the mountains, by myself. I would hike for hours with no one else around. I loved those mountains.
And as far as family was concerned, my mom's great-aunt Ruth McMillin, lived in Guthrie, Oklahoma still. In fact, her house was the original house that her father had owned along the railroad. The family owned a store where people would buy things when the train stopped. Although the storefront was boarded up, it was like a time capsule. I would walk through the store, seeing old bottles of aspirin, and tins of gum and band-aids. Nobody had ever bothered to tear down the store, or open up the storefront, so there it stayed. Aunt Ruth would talk anyone's ear off. In fact, all of the McMillins seem to have the gift of gab. She would talk and talk and talk. I was polite and always listened, but I just wanted to head outside to play in the red dirt. Yes, the dirt was ochre red, and soft like talc. Aunt Ruth also had a car that she never drove. I remember hearing something about the car being 20 years old with only 3,000 miles on it. In the end, Aunt Ruth ended up living past 100 (and died only recently). While she sold off all of her father's antiques, my mother managed to get her grandfather's wall clock which hung in his office.
For Thanksgiving, we always ended up at "Aunt" Mary's and "Uncle" Abe's. I'd have to look at a chart, but I believe they were really first cousins, once removed to my mother. They lived in Denison, Texas (just outside of Dallas). They actually had an organ in their house, so I would spend most of my time, playing around on that. They didn't mind, seeing as both of them were basically deaf. Thanksgiving dinner was full of everything Southern: corn, green beans, fried okra. "Aint" Margaret was their daughter, and I remember her being friendly but very loud. My mother stayed in contact with her until she died recently also.
I loved living in Texas. In fact, when my mother decided to move us to Michigan when I was 13 years old, I figured Michigan would be just as lovely. I learned quickly that the Texan hospitality doesn't exactly extend that far North. However, I've come to love it too. However, no matter what I say or where I live now, let it be known that I am a Southerner, through and through.
Comments
Post a Comment