week 7 discussion board four why I am who I am

Why I am who I am

1  I've never heard of such a thing.

2  When my father came home late one night and came into kiss us good night in our bunk beds.  In the dark, the crisp cold of his beard and the dampness of the wetted wool, frozen, seemed to 'smell of snow.'

3  When my son laughs his smile shows his perfect white teeth, too big for his adolescent face, his permanent teeth, the ones he will have as an adult, they are disproportionate and the two front take up most of his smile.  When he laughs he throws his head back and opens his mouth wide enough to emit his raucous laughter, it comes from his gut- clear, loud, decisive.

4  My blue Peugeot race bike in alloy, pop up camper parked in the driveway, white tretorn tennis shoes, my brother's fiat X19, a poster of irises in my bedroom, daisies growing outside my window interspersed with plants of dill grown from seeds, tiny plants of violets in small wicker baskets lining the book shelf in my bedroom, the sound of adults' voices wafting upstairs from the living room, my dad's scotch on the rocks, the yellow house with taupe shutters in Apple Valley, my mother's wine glass full of white Chablis, Diane's school of dance class at the strip mall in Eagan, trains, the south of France, snow, braces, Spain in my senior year of high school, button up sweaters worn backwards, the red dress Heather made for me in home ec, tuxedo jacket, Frye boots, white eyelet bed cover, my mother's cameo earrings, the daybed at my grandmother's house in Iowa, my father's black leather jacket,  the gold oldsmobile, bunk beds, railroad tracks, picnics in the yard with the Hibachi grill.