I am from a Saturday afternoon living room overflowing with the sounds of Fleetwood Mac, John Lennon and Bob Dylan. I am from home cooked meals, roaring laughter at the dinner table and short tempered Italians. I am from Frank Sinatra singalongs, Lifetime movies and swimming lessons from my Mimi. I am from my Pop’s war stories, tomato picking and ***** jokes. I am from the grandparents that didn’t want my dad and the grandparents that did. I am from the stoic grandmother that wasn’t involved in my mom’s life and the deadbeat grandad that didn’t seem to exist. I am from the ten years of Catholic school, plaid skirts and polo shirts. I am from spoon-fed customs of Catholicism every day except (coincidentally) Sunday mornings. I am from rose scented mornings because of regretted whiskey words from the night before. I am from words muttered impulsively, apologizes not offered graciously and too many family nights turned into family fights. I am from cigarette infused hugs, plastered smiles and “I’ll quit tomorrow”. I am from twenty-six years of handholding, couch cuddling and kitchen dancing. I am from goodnight kisses, chocolate chip cookies in my lunch and red heart emoji’s in a text. I am from love and anger and happiness and remorse. I am from memories in the making and a future unknown.