east west

the proverbial ticket home

the other day i thought about the church i grew up in. any of my authentic appalachian memories stem from there. the men stand around quietly with their hands in the pockets of polyester pants pulled up too high. they'd shake hands with the pastor and in so doing, would slip him a $10 bill. they'd yell at the kids to get out of the cow pasture, pull out their pastel suits for easter sunday, call each other "brother", and stand stoically during the invitation. they said my dad was a yankee. after living there for twenty-five years, still a yank. sometimes i wonder about this. did he ever miss the bristling hubbub of new york city, certain songs bringing him back, longing to ride the subway to wherever it would take him on a sunday afternoon? or did he find the southwest virginians entertaining: those who had been to new york city once ("I guess i was right plum there in the middle 'cause they was a sign sayin' uptown and another says downtown"), those who saw no need to leave the county, those who had gone to Roanoke for their honeymoon? did he see it as a cultural immersion: saying "y'all" to fit in, answering "roanoke" when asked where he was from ("Oh naw, you ain't from roanoke - you from somewhere up north, i know that"), pulling out his banjo and violin-turned-fiddle when appropriate? did he find it amusing when his four-year old daughter came home from preschool saying, "what in tarnation?".
we just bought our tickets home for christmas. five days in virginia with the sweet grass that will no doubt be brown, the dogwoods flowers gone, the poplar tree bare. winter, always winter.

posted by jessica @ 8:21 PM