I watched their webcast concert the other day and for some reason "I Come From"stuck with me for a while afterward and made me think. It's a wonderful song about being proud of (not arrogant) and grateful for who and where you came from. It made me reflect on my own influences - who and where I come from.
...and I came up empty. It was kind of a startling revelation.
I realized I see my roots more in terms of Marillion's "Accidental Man":
"An accident of gender,
an accident of birth.
that holds me to point of view
this time and place on earth".
I have lived here virtually all my life and while I intimately know every nook and cranny of this area, any attachment I feel is born of familiarity and comfort. (No small thing to a creature of habit like me, but still...)This area is no better or worse than anywhere else. Sure, I could bore the ears off a visitor about local history and the Erie Canal, but that would simply be a case of trying to share something they don't know or hear about all the time. I'd probably serve them Spedies and Salt Potatoes or Utica Greens and Chicken Riggies, but that would be more from a desire to share something unique, something different, as opposed to any real pride in those dishes.
As much as I love the woods, I suppose I could just as well feel the same about the mountains, the ocean or the desert. (But not the city. No way.)
The only place I feel any affinity for is up north, the area where my camp is and my grandparents' house was. Something about that area just speaks to me - from the coarse, glacial, sandy soil to the plaintive call of the White-Throated Sparrow. I kind of suspect this is owing to spending two week vacations up there, during my childhood. It was the only time and place I was out from under my mother's oppressive thumb. (And she often commented that it took two weeks to "straighten us out" when we came home). I often joke that my house is "where I live", but my camp is "home".
The only place I feel any affinity for is up north, the area where my camp is and my grandparents' house was. Something about that area just speaks to me - from the coarse, glacial, sandy soil to the plaintive call of the White-Throated Sparrow. I kind of suspect this is owing to spending two week vacations up there, during my childhood. It was the only time and place I was out from under my mother's oppressive thumb. (And she often commented that it took two weeks to "straighten us out" when we came home). I often joke that my house is "where I live", but my camp is "home".
Ok, but surely there must be people who have helped make me what I am, right? Well, I came up pretty fuzzy there, too.
The whole "family" thing wasn't really part of my formative years. Outside of my mother, father and sister, everyone either lived downstate or was on my mother's personal Shit List (or both) so we never saw much of them - no real influences there. Most anyone I could think of as an influence was somewhat of a mixed bag.
The whole "family" thing wasn't really part of my formative years. Outside of my mother, father and sister, everyone either lived downstate or was on my mother's personal Shit List (or both) so we never saw much of them - no real influences there. Most anyone I could think of as an influence was somewhat of a mixed bag.
My paternal grandfather helped form my love of the outdoors, but I also realize he was a product of his times - ie a bit hyper-conservative and a bit of a bigot. Thankfully I didn't get that part.
I don't really remember either of my grandmothers having much influence - but I'm willing to credit my maternal grandmother with my love of food. "Mangia!"
I'm pretty much empty as far as teachers go - though I had a few good ones - so I guess that leaves my parents.
My dad wasn't with us quite long enough to complete his tutelage, but I think my sense of honor, my belief that my word means something and feeling that you should always strive do do the right thing - especially when no one's looking- came from him. He was the quiet type. He didn't say much, but he didn't have to. He was calm, quiet and logical. I can channel that sometimes, but it's offset by my inheritance of my mother's short fuse. The older I get, the more I see him as an iceberg - a lot going on below the waterline that no one really saw. His early passing certainly left me constantly mindful of the passage of time and a knowledge that regret is a terrible thing to carry around.
But he didn't know shit about tools.
Last, but by far not least, my mother. She was a mixed bag of influences if ever there was one. From her I got my fierce sense of independence. Whether this is a good thing or not depends on the circumstances. It's been an asset sometimes but gotten me in a lot of hot water, too. (No regrets!)
She was independent in thought as well, and it's to her that I attribute my willingness to question everything and not just mindlessly accept the status quo. I think it's served me well, and it's the one thing I tried to pass on to my son. I'm not sure if i inherited my love of learning from her, but she did teach me to read, very early, which has paid a lot of dividends.
On the other hand, she also taught me that hitting your kids doesn't work; it just made me a better liar and good at keeping my feelings hidden - not exactly desirable traits. On the surface I suppose her constant admonition that I was lazy and selfish having made me aways strive to prove the opposite looks like a good thing, but there's a flip side. I have a very, very hard time relaxing - I always feel like I should be doing something productive. While my lifelong desire to prove her wrong has helped me be kind and considerate, it's left me unable to ask anyone for anything - no matter how badly I may need it -far, far in excess of the normal Y chromosome related reluctance to ask for assistance. No matter how badly I'm drowning, I won't ask for help. I will -usually- take it if it's offered, but to ask someone to do something they wouldn't do of their own volition is an anathema.
So I see myself as byproduct of a whole slew of varying influences...but that doesn't make for a very good song, does it? (Accidental Man notwithstanding).
My dad wasn't with us quite long enough to complete his tutelage, but I think my sense of honor, my belief that my word means something and feeling that you should always strive do do the right thing - especially when no one's looking- came from him. He was the quiet type. He didn't say much, but he didn't have to. He was calm, quiet and logical. I can channel that sometimes, but it's offset by my inheritance of my mother's short fuse. The older I get, the more I see him as an iceberg - a lot going on below the waterline that no one really saw. His early passing certainly left me constantly mindful of the passage of time and a knowledge that regret is a terrible thing to carry around.
But he didn't know shit about tools.
Last, but by far not least, my mother. She was a mixed bag of influences if ever there was one. From her I got my fierce sense of independence. Whether this is a good thing or not depends on the circumstances. It's been an asset sometimes but gotten me in a lot of hot water, too. (No regrets!)
She was independent in thought as well, and it's to her that I attribute my willingness to question everything and not just mindlessly accept the status quo. I think it's served me well, and it's the one thing I tried to pass on to my son. I'm not sure if i inherited my love of learning from her, but she did teach me to read, very early, which has paid a lot of dividends.
On the other hand, she also taught me that hitting your kids doesn't work; it just made me a better liar and good at keeping my feelings hidden - not exactly desirable traits. On the surface I suppose her constant admonition that I was lazy and selfish having made me aways strive to prove the opposite looks like a good thing, but there's a flip side. I have a very, very hard time relaxing - I always feel like I should be doing something productive. While my lifelong desire to prove her wrong has helped me be kind and considerate, it's left me unable to ask anyone for anything - no matter how badly I may need it -far, far in excess of the normal Y chromosome related reluctance to ask for assistance. No matter how badly I'm drowning, I won't ask for help. I will -usually- take it if it's offered, but to ask someone to do something they wouldn't do of their own volition is an anathema.
So I see myself as byproduct of a whole slew of varying influences...but that doesn't make for a very good song, does it? (Accidental Man notwithstanding).
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