Ancestry.

I wrote that I’ll be leaving for a place where no one knows my name. I was wrong. They know me by a different name. I am Someone’s Daughter… and sometimes Someone’s Granddaughter.

It matters here. It matters because it’s clear to me what that actually means within this space and time. I am the daughter of a teacher’s daughter and a farmer’s son. These are my ropes for they have climbed so far above their rungs. I am the daughter of overachievers. These are my chains for I am always compared inevitably if I am half as smart, as creative, as talented or as hardworking. Their shadows are larger than life, cast against their books and echoes of distant lectures. Still, I am the byproduct of their accumulated wealth, their failed marriages, their unprofitable degrees and their nomadic life. Without them, these words would be written differently, probably with less insolence, less eloquence and less prudence. Because of the difference, I understand the indelible parts of what I am and the parts that are left to be.

Maybe if you would look a little closer and see the difference between their shadows and mine, you may see who I am.

Then you will know my name.