The 8th-Grade Shares “Where They’re From”

To start out their study of the American Story, 8th-grade literature students composed poems detailing where they’re from, what objects define their households, their upbringing, their culture, and their roots. The following is a sampling of the food, products, and stories that surround our vibrant, many-voiced 8th Grade.

I Am From Poem

By Matteo Lam

I am from Maui Ocean

From Coconut hand soap and Nba 2k Sports 

I am from a spacious cool house

Comfortable, cozy, with the aroma of delicious food 

I am from a watermelon seed, 

giant leafy vines, flowers budding, green all over with the exception of the unfortunate leaves spotted by the scorching sun, and finally my matured watermelon at the end of the vine.

I’m from Christmas and bringing Santa and brown eyes

From Natalie and Christina

I’m from taking off my shoes in my house and warm greetings on arrival from school

From “Do your best” and “be safe, have fun”

I’m from Christianity, always praying for peace for All.

I’m from Santa Monica and an Italian Mamma and an American Asian Dad

Musubi, pasta

From getting a fish hook stuck in my finger, taking it out myself and rejecting a hello kitty bandaid 

The independence of my older sister

In my house walls pictures of memories

Reminds me of all the good times we’ve had

I am from those moments and the dream of what I will become.

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I Am From

By Emily Feffer

I am from a small house

From Dr. Pepper and Cherry Coke

I am from the seeds of home-grown tomatoes

(Red and yellow, as sweet as sugar)

I am from dandelions and grapefruits

Resilient and kind

I’m from reunions and feasts

From James and Trisha

I’m from the work and friendliness

From yeses and nos

I’m from Catholicism and Christmas

I’m from Palm Springs

Hamburgers and rice, bundt cakes as well

From the skunk in the barn

The recipes of Elizabeth

In the closet, relics and photos

Showing who was there, and when they were.

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I Am From

By Nicole Jowitt

I am from receipts turned into bookmarks,

from Barilla Pasta and Safeway shopping bags, 

I am from the wood chips in the backyard, 

sharp, miscellaneous, they crinkled beneath my feet. 

I am from the redwood trees, 

Who I remember towering over me like giants.

I’m from red envelopes and talking until the clock strikes midnight,

I’m from Michelle and Cullen, 

I’m from play fights and road trips, 

From what was that? and let me see your grades. 

I’m from sleeping in on Sunday mornings, 

I’m from the green fields of Ireland and the bustling city of Hong Kong, 

hot-and-sour-soup and crumbly coffee cake, 

From my great-grandmother’s graduation from law school,

To the multi-colored quilts my grandfather made. 

Boxes hidden under a bed hide photos of all ages, 

Slowly slipping from black and white to color.

I am from those photos, 

aged yet unmoving,

tying me to my past.

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I Am From

By Sherwin Hemmati

I am from technology 

From Google to Teslas 

I am from the lanterns across the backyard 

Glowing, bright, as you could feel the heat

I am from the roses

Who we still use to this day for respect 

I’m from Nowruz and kindness 

From Ryan and Sena 

I’m from the sweet tea but not as sweet as walking the dog

From you have to be a doctor and no food until your room is clean

I’m from the value of peace and solidarity 

I’m from the rockets launching to the beautiful roads of Iran

Guarma sabsi to cooked kabab 

From our grandpa telling years of stories of his childhood, where we quickly fell asleep

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I Am From

By Emerson Roth Price

I am from the old tire swing hanging from the tree in our front yard.

From Cactus Cooler and Otter pops.

I am from the old house down the street

overgrown, tall, and shady.

I am from roses,

With a smell as strong as they are red.

I’m From birthday bumps, and Brown eyes.

From Carla And Merrit.

From bobbing legs up and down uncontrollably

And Always turning work in just a bit late.

From Monsters under my bed,

And Bravery Is key.

I’m from going to church with my friend

And The smell of pine needles on Christmas.

I am from the tall mountains of Canada.

From Kimchi, And sour candy.

From the time we went sledding across a highway.

From the dark brown hair and eyes.

I am from the Pictures still above the fireplace reminding us of simpler times.

From the wolf carving passed down for generations since WWI.

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I Am From

By Ciera Carr

I am from ants

feeding off of the kitchen counter, 

taking over cereal boxes.

From colorful tide pods and Bounce dryer sheets

From mold growing on the concrete floors

(a broken sprinkler flooded the house, creating a kiddie pool in the living room)

I am from watching as wasps invade the mud dauber’s nest

I’m from leftovers and supplements in the fridge

I am from John and Tonya

I am from reciting the best lines of Austin Powers and Stripes, 

From binging horror movies my mom was too scared to watch

From being told not to touch locked cars

due to the possibility of electrocution,

A fear ingrained by my father.

I’m from untraditional Christianity having arguments with atheism,

Flowers weren’t needed, for the topic of religion was already the centerpiece of our dinner table.

I am from the humid south and frigid northeast, 

holding hands in the sand of a scorching desert.

From experimental concoctions and unflavored white chicken, more than meeting the caucaisian stereotype

I’m from the demented mind of a former school teacher 

(Great Grandma Maude taught the students of her memory even while deaf, blind, and dying in her bed)

From the screeching of my father’s singing as he tried to impress my mom,

comparable to the mating call of a moose.

The pictures on our walls are of strangers, 

old celebrities smiling and laughing with wide beady eyes 

boring into one’s soul,

While the pictures I am connected to are hidden,

tucked away in ripped cardboard boxes, 

buried beneath old clothes. 

I am from these forgotten photo albums and baby pictures,

Old, crinkled, and yellowed, causing everyone to appear jaundiced,

they tie me to both my past, and the past of my family.