I am from...

Today would be my parents' 47th wedding anniversary. At the time of their marriage, my mother was a ticket agent for American Airlines in Nashville, and my father was a traveling salesman running from his destiny of being a minister. Both had been married before and had children. My maternal grandmother--and perhaps my snooty paternal grandmother--was not happy with Mom's involvement with Dad, so on May 6, 1961, Derby Day, Mom and Dad eloped to Kentucky. It was an inauspicious beginning. They stopped to eat on the way home, and both came down with food poisoning.

My dad loved the story of their wedding, even the illness. He'd say, "We eloped to Kentucky on Derby Day...and the race has been on ever since."

So, here's a little poem about the two greatest influences on my life.

I am from a southern magnolia,
transplanted long before my birth.
Hardier than her delicacy shows,
she yearns for that warmer soil,
but her roots are planted deep
in this Missouri dirt.
I wait patiently for her to bloom,
those sweet pastels drawing others in,
but just as the buds fully form,
a late snow shower frosts her limbs,
and she retreats in protection.

She’d like me to stay nested,
a reddened robin in her shelter,
but I am not like her.

For I am also of a drifting wind.
My father, a circuit rider,
Wandering was his soul.
He’d settle for a while,
give us time to acclimate,
gain a foothold in the arduous soil.
Then, the spirit would move us
to greener pastures,
through overgrown forests,
stopping sometimes on rocky outcroppings.
He liked the change, the challenge.
She always looked for ways to keep
her roots firmly grounded.

So, while I am from fixed beauty,
I hear a whisper in my ear say,
“Fly away, little bird. Fly!”
And as my feet lift off,
I ignore the knowing sorrow in her eyes.