Raised in a Place

As I was speaking to a colleague over Zoom today, I heard it. I heard the place that I come from.

It’s the subtle things in my actions, and how I speak that make me remember that I was raised in a place that laid an honest foundation to who I would become- and who I am still discovering.

It is a place that people know who you are and know what struggles you have gone through. It is a place that lends a hand and a truck when you need to move; and you didn’t even ask for help. A place that brings over a meal, when things are not looking well for you and your family.

It is a place that taught me that fibbing would get you no where except deeper into the hole you were digging yourself. You could back pedal all you wanted, it still wouldn’t work out in the end.

I was raised in a place that you worked for what you had. Stealing was not tolerated. You borrowed items, but you promptly returned them along with a treat for the owner. Or, you “owed ‘em one.”

It was a place that let me run free with my imagination. One week, I would be in the pasture playing with my dogs, and the next, I’d be biking through town. You never questioned your safety. You made sure that you were home when the street lights kicked on.

It was the place where I was introduced to golf. The golf course I grew up playing on, gave me the freedom to find a sport that I eventually came to love. Driving the golf cart, trying to pet the cows near hole two, and fishing for the high-dollar golf balls out of number nine; ‘cause no one could get over that, successfully from the tee.

It was the place that held people who showed me how you treat people. It was also the place that showed me how to hold my own and not cower down to those who tried to overtake me.

It was the place that held so many places that hold so many memories I will never forget. It is the place that holds so many people, places, things that I love- and always will.