I am from homemade crepes every Sunday and from Ribena and Tang. From rice and breaded cutlets 4 days a week and hot chocolate every morning. From Benson & Hedges and instant coffee. From Chef Boyardee lunches when mom started working.
I am from the 2nd floor of one of the oldest condos in Mississauga, from parquet floors with gold carpeting and from one bathroom. From astro turfed balconies and concrete swimming pools. From the #3 line and the #1 line.
I am from the red Impatiens and the ever growing pine tree out front. From Applewood creek and crab apple trees ready for picking. From the smell of chlorine and the sounds of kids playing in the streets. From I Love Rock n Roll to Only Time will Tell.
I am from yearly trips to Brazil and weekly walks with our grocery cart to Food City. From the same Halloween costume year after year and from playing outdoors in the summer from dawn to dusk; without parental supervision I might add ;-) From hanging out at the Food Court in Square One after high school and from sitting on the seat on top of the wheel on the school bus. From house keys hung around necks on shoelaces.
I am from the newest gadget and newest vehicle father to the saving mother. From arguments and fights to quiet and peace. From the snuggles and cuddles of my grey and white cat.
I am from “I said so because I am your mother” from “If your friends jumped off a bridge would you”.
I am from midnight mass on Christmas Eve and from pretending to be sleeping on the couch when I was 15 so I didn’t have to go!
I am from Brazil and Hungary, from sognos and feijoada and from cabbage rolls and perogies. From traces of French and Irish thrown in for good measure. From farofa sprinkled over rice and from potato pancakes on lazy Sunday afternoons.
I am from the time the three of us took driver’s ed and we would spend 3 hours in a car doing homework while one of us took the wheel with our instructor Mr. Please don’t spill my coffee or cookies while you’re driving. From deciding to walk home BY MYSELF in grade one resulting in panicked phone calls from my mom when I didn’t get off the bus.
I am from a shoebox of black and white photos and countless albums falling apart in a teak wall unit. From videos of Vovo and her home. From countless afternoons spent pouring over them with mom reliving our memories.