I am from old photos propped up on the mantle, soggy but sugary Frosted Flakes, and faded and worn overalls.

I am from Saturday bacon whose delicious smell filled the kitchen, enticing us to reach for just one more piece.

I am from a glass chess set that stood on the coffee table, occupying the endless hours at my cousin’s spotless apartment.

I am from attending weekly Mass, beautiful mosaics displaying scenes from the Gospel as they enhanced the bland windowpanes.
From straining my young toddler’s voice as I yelled, “AMEN!” after every other sentence the priest said.

I am from Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood, brightly adorned Velcro sneakers, and Rice Krispies for snacktime.

I am from screaming up and down as my brother came home from school each afternoon, tugging his arm and begging to play.

I am from the cream and green colors of my bedroom walls, complete with a ceiling lit up by glow-in-the-dark stars splayed across the textured surface.

I am from the ever-present sound of our stereo blaring “Open the Eyes of My Heart, Lord,” every now and then spewing random buzzes that annoyed me to no end.
From the clumsy attempts to follow along while my father groaned at the start of every verse.

I am from standing in the perfectly manicured front yard, laughing and twirling as wind danced around me.
From the grass that sprouted from beneath my bare feet, softening the blows of attempted cartwheels and somersaults.

I am from the gentle coo of a small baby boy, giggling and waving his tiny fists while his pacifier dangled above him.
From the baby's smile, lighting up any dismal situation, as if the very sun played over his sweet face.

I am from Build-A-Bear, plastic LEGO, and failed pull-ups on the tall kitchen countertop.

I am from lamb-themed nametags hanging on thick red yarn, draped around my neck as I flew high in the air on my pre-school’s swing set.

I am from a pink, fluffy Dora the Explorer jacket, which made a slight “swish” noise as I fumbled with my pudgy fingers, struggling to zip it up.

I am from soft footsteps pacing up and down the hallways of my home, my vision blurry as I tried to fight the oncoming drowsiness.
From Dad’s arms holding me against him as he locked each door, finally tucking me into bed.

I am from heavy pink comforters snuggled under my chin, sneaking me into a dreamless sleep.
From Mom tiptoeing to my bedroom, tracing my forehead with a cross and a kiss.

My life relates to a simple tulip – small, plain, but made unique by its past, full of wonderful people, places, and stories that has allowed it to break through the grounds of childhood. A tulip that will stay strong with the many memories that has raised it, slipping into the open air that is the future and all it holds.