Home, in the Things That Stayed

I could hear the hum of the tires and feel the quiet vibration of my grandma’s van beneath us. Sunlight streaming in through the windows. 

My papa, my brother, and I were huddled around an ice chest, playing cards. 

I don’t remember where we were going. My brother and I often spent our summers traveling in that van together. The memories will always feel close. 

Home for me was always more about the people around me than a place. Even though I grew up in the same area for over ten years, we were either with my mom or with my grandparents. 

They were home. 

What I Never Thought to Name

I didn’t always think of this as culture growing up, because it was just my normal. 

It didn’t look like traditions, but it wasn’t exactly the standard either.

It showed up in ways I didn’t think twice about, like the year I only ate corn dogs. 

My mom couldn’t get me to eat anything else when I was a kid. 

They’re still a comfort food for me, and I enjoy them with my kids. 

What Was Passed Without Saying

I remember the smell of biscuits frying in butter, something my mom made every couple of months.

Always on a weekend, usually before my brother and I were up for the day. 

My mom made them the way her mom did. 

If I was up in time, I got to shake the bag of powdered sugar with the fried biscuits inside. It was always the messiest part and the most fun. 

It always felt a little special, and I think it still does.

What Was Always There

I’ve come to realize that my creativity wasn’t something that I learned or that started later, it was something already there from the beginning. 

My mom was always making something with cross-stitch, and I learned a basic sewing stitch when I was 8. 

There were always different craft kits at the store when I was growing up, and I had many of them. The one that stuck was beadwork. 

I taught myself with one of those little kits and had a small loom where I made beaded chokers or bracelets. 

I would even create my own designs. 

As I got older and into high school, I would modify my jeans and pants by adding in additional fabric or making designs and sewing it on top (all by hand). 

I even made my junior prom dress. 

After that came writing, poetry, and drawing, usually with pencil. Charcoal was always a favorite. 

It’s always been a part of my life. 

Small Things That Stayed

Culture can be one of those tricky things that we don’t realize we really have until we take stock of our lives. 

My husband grew up with a rich culture, a steady structure of community, shared celebrations, and strong family ties. 

Thinking of mine, it almost seems pale in comparison. 

But maybe it’s just quieter. 

I remember the consistency my mom had in giving my brother and me a card and a small pack of candy for every holiday.

Or how our Christmases were usually loud, fun, and grateful while Easter was playful competition, both centered around family. 

Those traditions changed as I got older, but they still sit with me, and they’re something I carry on with my kids. 

What I Carry With Me

Today, I look back on my childhood and see many things I never thought of as cultural, but they are.

I was able to experience traveling with my family, and spending two months in a van with four people was simply part of my normal.

I learned how to play different card games, take pictures, use my first laptop, see the country, meet all kinds of people, and communicate in new ways.

But I never forgot… my family was home. 

What’s something you’ve carried forward without even realizing it?

From my road to yours, happy wandering.