My Roots

One of the last things my mom said to me before I left for Spokane was "Don't forget your roots." After not being emotional the whole time while packing and getting ready to move, this rang in my ears and made me want to break down into tears. This blog is a place to let you all know what is going on in my life, and to reminisce about the stories that make me who I am.

So for those of you that do not know who I am, I am the child of two wonderful, loving parents. I am the sibling to the best sister I could ever ask for. I am the descendant of share croppers, farmers, a bootlegger, two public school teachers, a school secretary, and an auto mechanic. I am proud of who I am, and I am proud of each of them. Even though I didn't have the opportunity to meet some of them, I am still proud. Their beliefs and traditions have been instilled in me as I have become an adult.

From my Grandma Ila, I learned to grow plants and appreciate their beauty. From my Mamaw Jonnie and Mamaw Mattie, I learned to make the best biscuits in the world and how to make a darn good pie. From my Papaw Twain and Papaw Jerry, I learned how to fish, shoot a gun, and almost how to water ski. From my Momma and Daddy, I have learned too much to even put into words.

My roots are strong, decades of hard work by my ancestors have ensured this. I will not ever forget my roots, I don't think that is possible. There is too much sentimentality involved. I may have relocated myself, but I will always be an Arkansan at heart. As well as a Barton, Willlis, Gillum, Crain, McCormack, Hunt, Sutterfield, etc.

One of the last things that my grandpa asked me before I left was if I made sure and packed the carbide lamp he gave me. He then added that if I got lost, I could use it to find my way home. In my 24 years on this planet, this may have been the most profound statement he has ever made to me. I'm glad I have that lamp to light my way.

So, remember where you come from, folks. And don't forget your roots.