1861 to Present.

One of the greatest lies children are taught in school is that the American Civil War ended in April of 1865. The Civil War never ended; it just changed fronts. It's not about the color of your skin, the flag you fly, or the way you talk. The war is about one thing -- the evil people up top trying to control everybody else at the bottom.

The Civil War is ongoing and you're living it today. Think about how far you've come in this fight, and yet you're still standing. People are trying to destroy your kids sense of humanity, or worse yet kidnap them. You're taxed to death by a government that doesn't give a crap about you. The car in your driveway is long past its expiration date. The roof needs fixed, your child needs braces, and there's a raging fire just beyond the ridge. Shady people in rooms from countries we'll never see or hear are spying on us all day and night. Our elders rot away over nonsensical rules in dingy hospital beds and nursing homes. Our babies wind up in trash bags like discarded chewing gum.

I'm not sure how much more the People can take, but we've already taken so much... and I bet we can take more. We're strong. We're hard-headed. We're survivors. There's a reason America hasn't yet caved to the twisted clandestine bastards at the top. We're a bunch of stubborn, ornery outcasts that come from Forefathers who simply had enough; from slaves who braved a vast ocean and a life of great uncertainty; from immigrants who didn’t speak a lick of English but wanted a better life for their family. Do you know how much power your ancestors grant you? Through your veins pumps the blood of kings and queens, warriors and valkyries, preachers and prophets, long-distance runners and sea-fairing sailors, farmers and bakers, and especially mothers and fathers.

You are so damn powerful… and you don’t even realize it. You know who does realize this truth, though? Those life-sucking fiends that have been trying to take everything from you since 1861 and beyond. They understand just how powerful the common man and woman are, so they use subversion and trickery to divide and conquer us. I’m not sure if most of the People will ever see through the ruse, but I know a lot of them do already. Until my last breath, I’m not going to stop ringing the alarm bell.

You shouldn’t stop either. Look at how far you’ve already come. The nameless puppet-masters have thrown everything and the kitchen sink at you and me… but we’re still here.

And the Civil War rages on, 1861 to Present.

"Spirit of America" -- Norman Rockwell, 1974

Being a Conflicted Southerner.

 

I heard Tom Petty's 'Southern Accents' on the radio today for the first time in what must be decades. It's always stirred a strange feeling in me. To be perfectly honest, it makes me reflect upon a topic that's very personal. I've never discussed this openly before.

I've always been very conflicted about being a Southerner. There have been times in my life where I was ashamed of being from the South. I thought I was too good for the culture, to put it bluntly. At other times of my life, I've wanted to be more Southern, but knew I just didn't fit in with the other country boys. I was a spare tire in the bed of their proverbial truck.

I've never been one for driving four wheelers and getting dirty; for going to country and western bars or being altogether rebellious. I can't understand the thrill of riding a horse. I'm too afraid to drive a motorcycle and I'm not a very good fisherman. You wouldn't catch me dead picking tobacco and I don't like southern summers. Being outside isn't something I like most days, as I'd rather be playing a game or reading a book inside. I suck at camping. I don't talk to the big man upstairs very often because I'm not sure anyone is listening... and if they are, I'm not sure they care.

I'm about about as un-Southern as someone could be. And yet, here I am wearing this mask of a culture I'm not really a part of. I can't take it off.

Sometimes I'm embarrassed by my Southern Virginia / Carolina accent. I don't pronounce words that rhyme with 'oil' correctly. My cadence is slow and paced with my breathing. When I get the slightest bit frustrated, my voice gets louder and the accent becomes bolder. I'm not very proud of how I sound. That's probably why I prefer to write and stay silent.

And yet, I'm proud of where my family and ancestors come from. They're hard working people that went through a lot with very little to show for it. Whether from the Carolinas, Virginia, West Virginia, Kentucky, or Tennessee... they all lived hard, sincere lives that exemplify what the highest ideal of being a Southerner represents. Southerners are genuine, caring, and loyal to a fault. They'll feed a stranger and always know how to make friends.

I'm not sure if there's a point to all this, but being Southern isn't something I've ever done very well. I just hope my ancestors wouldn't be disappointed in me.