So, if you are a regular reader of Rebel Chick’s Journey, then you probably know that I come from a long line of rednecks in the mountains of Western North Carolina. I say rednecks with a little bit of pride, because where I come from, that’s not actually a slur. It’s not like I called them hillbillies, God forbid!
I’ll give you my own definition of “redneck:” someone with a simple, shameless approach to living. They are mostly uncultured, untraveled, and usually prefer a pick-up truck and beer over sports cars and wine. Sometimes they are ignorant due to geographical location, but I’ve found (at least with my family) that they are usually modern, up-to-date on current events (especially Republican politics and military affairs) and generally no different than city-dwellers. Except that they enjoy living a more simple life. They don’t care for fancy cars, big houses, flashy jewelry, etc. Keeping up with the Joneses? They don’t even know what that means. They don’t put on airs.
They may or sit their new flat screen TV on top of their fifty-year-old-broken box television set and think nothing of it.
I like to think of myself as a city girl, being that I was born and raised in Miami. Yet, somehow, that redneck influence worked it’s way into me through my family’s influence and my many summers spent in the isolated mountains of North Carolina. Lately, I find myself doing things every once in a while that I know a refined city gal like myself should not be doing.
Like kicking my shoes off once I get into the car…and then walking into Burger King barefoot…because I am so used to NEVER WEARING SHOES at home.
Or meeting the mail man at the curb in my pajamas because…well, maybe that’s just because I’m lazy. Ha!
Or instead of taking down my Christmas lights each January, leaving them up all year long and just unplugging them. Hey, that’s not that bad, right? I could string the lights around my vehicle parked in the driveway year round because it’s not running, like my parents.
My taking in every stray animal that looks my way? That’s 100% REDNECK right there! (Oh crap, that came out in my head sounding like Larry the Cable Guy! – I swear I do not like him. I swear! I only watched the Blue Collar Comedy Tour that one time because I like Ron White!)
My unabashed love of animals – big, small, scaly and furry – I learned from my parents. I spent a few years as a child at my grandparent’s farmhouse in North Carolina, where my first pet was….a cow.
Honey, you just can’t get anymore redneck than that. Yes, that is me, hugging my pet calf, Buddy. Too bad you can’t see that I’m wearing overalls and boots in that picture – I will spare you the other photos of me riding the calf.
Also, things rednecks do? Go “shooting” with their dad when they’re six years old.
Do you see the look of exhilaration on my face? Like most redneck children, I loved shooting things. The fact that my dad was in the Army and we lived in Kentucky didn’t help the situation much. My dad likes to brag that I was a perfect shot. I should have been a gangsta!
Also? I just realized that I have the same hair style now as I did when I was six years old. WTF?!
I’m going to share one last redneck family photo with y’all, because frankly, this is starting to get embarrassing. My city-girl cover has been blown wide open…but this last photo is actually not my own, it’s from a photo montage that my mother took last year of a little “critter” she rescued from a neighbor’s backyard. If we’re friends on my personal Facebook page, check out the entire “photo shoot” in my album entitled “my mother’s new hobby.”
Okay, so that’s more than one photo. I had to give you a few in order for you to get the full effect of the redneck-ness. My parents rescued this little baby opossum from their neighbor, whose dog had somehow manged to capture it and chew it up pretty badly. They believe it suffered some sort of brain trauma, because it’s sort of mentally-handicapped – so my parents have kept it as a pet because there’s no way it could survive on it’s own in the wild backyards of Miami, Florida. Seriously, this thing, “Polly” can barely even feed itself. For a while, they were hand feeding it! It can’t even play dead.
Or refuse to wear a pearl necklace and pose with Easter Peeps, apparently.