Imagine my shock when I read this?
In kindergarten, when the teacher asked me where I lived, I could recite the address without skipping a beat, even though my mother changed addresses frequently, for reasons I never understood as a child. Still, I always distinguished "my address" from "my home." My address was where I spent most of my time with my mother and sister, wherever that might be. But my home never changed: my great-grandmother's house, in the holler, in Jackson, Kentucky.I made the mistake of attempting to attend college at Lee's Junior College, Jackson, KY. I should have known the game was afoot when I saw the forty-four magnum bullet holes in a steel outside door of the male dorm. The story was that it was done by the locals that hated outsiders, or it might have been that the single campus security guard, Dexter Turner, got drunk one night and was just being himself. One day I was taking my laundry to the local Washeteria and on thevery busy raised concrete sidewalk downtown, (if you could call one single street downtown) I saw a mother with three little children hand-in-hand in a row. What made it a surreal experience was the long barreled revolver in a tooled leather holster on her hip, tied down low in quickdraw fashion. In another instance, my sister's boyfriend driving an old Chrysler convertible was rammed a few times by a local in a pickup truck until he pulled over and was then pistol whipped for the fun of counting coup on a "dirty hippy."
Reading this from J. D. Vance ranks right up there with reading a few months ago that vaunted Governor Ron DeSantis taught for a year at a very small private boys school in Rome. GA where I grew up.
These odd little shades of degrees of separation amplify for me the certainties of my path through God's creation.
...origins of the term....
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When you work the fields or construction, you get sunburned/tanned on the back of your neck.
We also call it a farmer’s tan. Take off the shirt and everything else is the color of milk.