My bedroom was in the basement for part of my youth, and I grew keen at identifying a person by his footsteps. Then, I realized that my own tread sometimes sounded like others’.
As I grew older and felt the effects of a late night, my sound was that of my patient, deliberate father.
When I have been outside in the sunshine of a new spring day, I mince more quickly along, ready for a clever quip -like my mother’s mother.
Angry and determined to show it are the menacingly heavy and faster steps of my paternal grandfather.
Tired of the stairs and eager to show life it cannot slow me down are my own steps, as I grab the railings on each side and sprint them a few at a time.
My ancestors are in me.
I’m proud of the steps they took in life that led to me, and walk on still with my posterity.