Where I'm from.

The World got bigger when I moved to the city. Not only was it eye-opening to see, hear, breath and experience all the things not offered in rural America, it was eye-opening to meet people who were different than those I've always known. In very small towns there isn’t much by way of diversity. Everybody looks the same, goes to the same school, church and grocery store. There’s an occasional kook that everybody enjoys because he would provide regular entertainment.
“There goes Uncle George, again. Is he wearing a purple bathrobe and yellow slippers? Lordy! It’s twenty-three degrees outside, I hope he’s got on warm socks...” and we’d wonder what his momma would be wearing without her robe and slippers. Other than a wacky neighbor, most people were the same with modest backgrounds with families that worked hard for what they had.
The lack of diversity also meant a lack of judgment. Many people assume that Poor White America is a rubber stamp for Racist. Where and how I grew up, this could not be further from the truth. We would never judge people based on Race, Income, Geography, etc; many in hopes that you would not judge us. The community was kind, loving and welcoming to all.
Moving to Washington, D.C. was a bigger jolt than I’d imagined. Public transportation is a phenomenal idea, as are taxicabs. Where I grew up, we had neither. All activities outside of the home revolved around having a car because things were so spread out. I don’t come from a place with sidewalks, and D.C. with all of the museums, clubs, and restaurants, there was much more to do than just look out for Uncle George. People in D.C. are from everywhere imaginable and most had fantastic stories to tell. Being a bit naïve, I’d talk to anybody who had time. Through work, I met some good people who took me under their more experienced wings.
Lena was my age and we had great fun. We partied together and she taught me many things. My education began with “You don’t have anything but jeans? We’re going shopping!” and continued right on through to, “Sweetie, I think you should get some tweezers. We’re going shopping!” She ‘City-fied’ me enough that when my mother came to visit, I walked into her hotel room and she drew in her breath and said, “Super, you look so… glamorous.”
If I had known that the purchase of black pants, a hairdryer and tweezers would have made me glamorous, then I would have gotten them when I was twelve (my least glamorous year, thus far). The statement and how my mother was taken aback made me feel very self-conscious and almost sad; later that night, I cried. I’m still a country-mouse, I swear!
My first experience with the not-so-nice aspects of city living came when Lena took me to meet some of her friends. We were going to go see a local band and we met up at her boyfriend’s house in a suburb of the city. There were five of us: two girls and three guys (Nate –the boyfriend, Mike and Timmy).
We decided to all ride together, so we piled into Mike’s BMW. They all seemed nice and as we pulled out of the driveway, Timmy asked if we could stop by his house to get some cash. We were driving out a curvy road that reminded me of home when Timmy giggled nervously and said to me, “I hope you don’t mind, my family lives in a dump. It’s a trailer. Real small.” Immediately, I assured him it made no difference to me what kind of home he or his family lived in, “Seriously, I grew up in West Virginia.”
Timmy then said, “Well, it’s kind of embarrassing, y’know?” I breathed deep, smiled, told him it was no big deal and that my brother and his family lived in a trailer behind my mom’s house. He smiled back at me.
When we pulled up to his parent’s mansion, my face grew hot and I couldn’t bring myself to get out of the car, “I’ll just wait here,” I whispered. Lena stuck her head into the backseat and tried to assure me “They’re not mean people; they didn’t know. It’s a joke they always tell.” After promising the laugh would come tomorrow, I convinced Lena I’d be fine in a moment.
By the time the boys returned, it was behind me; although not so far behind I wouldn't write about it years later.
My brother has a new house where his kids have a big yard with a swingset. But that is not why I'm not ashamed anymore. I'm not ashamed because I love my family and where I grew up helped shape me into the woman I am today. I don't define myself by where I have lived my life, rather how I have lived my life.
Those boys should have been ashamed; they assumed everybody was like them. Where I'm from, you don't make those assumptions because you never know a person's situation.