“Who are you?”

This question rattles around in my head, bouncing off the walls of my skull like an incessant pingpong ball. I have been ruminating on it for longer than I’d like to admit, simply because it’s a question I can’t easily answer.

_Who am I?_

Well, I know my name. I know where I come from. I know my profession and my hobbies. But that doesn’t answer it, does it?

In writing this I realize it’s not the question and answers themselves, it’s what’s behind them.

I am the personification of my heritage; fiery and playful, like the Irishmen that started my bloodline. I am analytical, fierce and have a work ethic second to none - a true descendant of the Nordic and Germanic Vikings that ravaged the ancient North.

The woman who raised me, though, shaped my being simply by being her. She raised me to be kind, nonjudgmental. Before leaving the house she’d tell me “make good choices!” in a singsong voice that told me she knew I would do my best to do exactly that. She nurtured a gentleness in my soul that balances the fire I stoke in my heart. I am soft. I love with my entire being and can feel the emotions of others as clearly as my own. My greatest weaknesses are also my greatest strengths.

I think about the question now, and it’s easy to answer.

I am exactly who she raised me to be.