Faithful Nest

You might think you know me, but where I’m from there’s this:

children in our parts were to be seen and not heard.

Sunday nights we all spent at Grandma and Grandpa’s,

milky tea washed down sardines and crackers after

Family Classics, Lawrence Welk and his big ‘shoe’.

You might think I’m from Wisconsin, but then here we

drink water from bubblers and soda comes with ice.

There is no woodshed out back, but threats with a belt were heard

It is more a matter of protection, respect,

and family that our dad’s are mostly obeyed.

You might think of our little town as Ke-no-where,

but if you stick around long enough you’ll learn more.

This town is more than a trolley on a Great Lake,

motor oil runs through most our genealogies,

mixed with the alcohol found in a rut of bars.

You might think our family is stuck in middle class,

but we’ve grown out of brown bag lunch for work and school.

We are proud of my generation of college

graduates of Bachelor’s and even Master’s

status, encouraging the next to do the same.

You might think you know me, but my family knows,

I’m an individual who makes my own mark.

Riding bicycles and writing are intertwined

with Scottish thrift and the Irish love of music.

A Gaelic knot of in- and inter- dependance.

You might think you know me and you might be right.