You Can't Go Home Again: A Tour Of Lunenburg County.

While traveling to Richmond over the weekend, I took a small detour through the area where I grew up. Lunenburg County has never been the wealthiest of locales. In fact, the county still doesn't even have a McDonald's or a Walmart; that's just how rural the place is. I emerged in Victoria, Virginia; the town where I went to middle and high school. Not too much had changed considering I hadn't been there in nearly fifteen years. Some of the businesses throughout the town had changed names, but many more seemed to have closed altogether. I took notice of so many empty storefronts and factories. Such a shame, really.

I made a stop at my old high school first. Central High was already in fairly run down condition when I graduated from there in 2000. It doesn't seem much has improved. Many of the outlying buildings were in disrepair.

The amphitheater surrounding the old art complex was dreary, with some benches appearing to be scattered or broken. I can recall sitting on that stage graduating, to which I fell asleep in the hot sun waiting for the whole event to be over. The only highlight seemed to be the football field, which looked to have a new fence and seating. This came as no surprise to me, though. Even when I was still a student there, all anyone ever cared about was the damned football team.

I then ventured down to Lunenburg Middle School, which I attended between 1993 and 1996. Unfortunately, I simply wasn't prepared for the dilapidated condition of the campus.

The two buildings which comprise the middle school are in the active process of being reclaimed by nature. Most of the lot, including the sports fields, was overgrown with tall grass and weeds. The old gymnasium and wood shop looked to be suffering roof collapses.

Windows everywhere were broken or missing. Many of the doors were left open to vagrants and wild animals. Had I of wanted to, I could have easily gone inside and inspected the broken down structure. Approaching the cafeteria, I found part of its large window knocked out.

Inside, I discovered trash, animal waste and grime. The old murals which used to be on the walls were painted over at some point after I left. I can still recall my very last day at the school in 1996, waiting for my bus to arrive outside the main office entrance. Such a pity the school has been all but forgotten. I learned later on this weekend that a new middle school had been built recently, but I'm not sure when or where. To see these old buildings rotting away, though... that was a punch to the gut.

Heading on to Kenbridge, I stopped by the Tastee Freez. Much to my thankfulness, I was glad it was still open for business. This was my first job as a teenager.

At the time, I rather disliked working there. But, looking back, it was probably one of the best parts of my teenage years. On Friday nights, we practically served every mouth in the county. It was even worse after a Central football game. Whew... talk about hard work! I am thankful for the work ethic that job taught me, though. Not much had evolved inside the building. The same tables, same booths, same menu board, same ice cream machine -- it was all there! The current employees were really nice and friendly. It was comforting to see that not much had been altered since the last time I was inside; I believe it was 2002.

I drove by my old house on Broad Street feeling perplexed, unable to tell if it was being remodeled or just trashed by the current residents. Garbage and building waste littered the yard. The multiple gas stations along Broad were still open, but stifled by folks in loud trucks, cars with blaring music and foolhardy loiterers. All in all, it was quite depressing.

Coming back as a man, I was taken aback by how much smaller everything seemed to be. Had I grown larger? Or, the more likely scenario... things have the appearance of being so much bigger when you're in your youth. 

Thomas Wolfe writes in his literary classic You Can't Go Home Again:

"You can't go back home to your family, back home to your childhood ... back home to a young man's dreams of glory and of fame ... back home to places in the country, back home to the old forms and systems of things which once seemed everlasting but which are changing all the time – back home to the escapes of Time and Memory."

The harrowing words of Wolfe pierce my heart like a stinging blade of remembrance. I've avoided Lunenburg County for so long. Never proud of where I came from as a young man, it wasn't a place I wanted to be a part of my adulthood. Seeing Lunenburg's current state, I can say confidently that I made the right choice in leaving all those years ago. There's no hope for the area; no chance of broadened horizons. No likelihood of being successful or noteworthy. No chance of seeing the world or meeting new people. It was important for me to experience where I grew up as a man, though. To understand just how far I've come as an adult, I needed to see firsthand where I started from. In all things, perspective is the key to correctly gauging your trajectory.

With the stale breath of creeping death upon my neck, I left Lunenburg with a greater appreciation of all that I've worked so hard for. None of my success would have been possible had I of stayed there.

Thanks Randy.

My brother James recently brought me some items that he found from my childhood. One such item was a paper wallet. Remember them? As kids, we used to make them back in the '80s and '90s. Unfortunately, I never had the dexterity with my hands to make them correctly. No matter how many times I'd try, I just never could get it right. Thankfully, my good friend Randy made one for me in third grade (1990-1991). This is it...

The things Randy wrote on this are enough to date it to the period. "Be rad like me" and "super cool radical dude" sure aren't phrases you'll hear come out the mouths of today's Millennials. He also gave me the code name "Mango", which I don't quite recall the origin of.

No relation to this Mango, which came many years later.

There's also a really cool iguana-type lizard on the side, as well as a secret code number -- 676 (which happens to be the prefix for Kenbridge, where we went to school). We never actually used the code for anything, it just looked neat.

Randy was a great guy who always looked out for me. As we grew older, he was always genuine and jovial, even though he hung out with a different crowd than I did (did I even have a crowd?). He knew how to make anyone laugh and was never a jerk. Unfortunately, Randy is no longer with us, but I do think about our childhood together. He is sorely missed. It's always great to find a little piece of your past, especially when it's something you thought was lost forever. I'm glad this relic has somehow survived for twenty-four years without winding up in a trash heap. It feels comforting to have something Randy touched. In a way, he's still with me.

Randy, wherever you are... thanks.

Randy is in the second row from the top, towards the left with the Bart Simpson shirt. Around that time, 'The Simpsons' were in their second season and had become a massive cultural phenomenon. I can recall Randy quoting Bart many times -- "Don't have a cow, man!" I'm on the right in the tie. Yes... I was the only kid who showed up in a tie for picture day. I guess I've always been a fastidious, scholarly knob!

If you're in the photo, feel free to share this blog. I know some of you will probably read this. Isn't it swell to see old photos of us?

Sharing Memories From My Youth.

I'm feeling a bit nostalgic this evening. Ever the sentimentalist, right? I'm just going to share some of my memories with you. Nothing is meant to be cohesive from one moment to the next -- I'm just recording some memories from my teenage years and early twenties while I have them on my mind (and before I forget).

I think back to Spring Weekend at Longwood University, April 16 of 2004. On that night, I saw Yellowcard and Something Corporate play. Perhaps one of the most memorable experiences of my early 20's -- I remember how powerful that show was. Something Corporate really left a mark on me that night. They closed Bandfest with Konstantine, which is still one of my most favorite songs. I met Stephanie and Beth that night -- two former friends whom are unfortunately no longer in my life. They were good people and hope they're doing well, wherever they are. It's funny how you lose touch with people over the years.

Unsurprisingly, I was almost late to my high school graduation in 2000. Literally, I arrived with moments to spare and barely got into line to walk out for the ceremony. My mom and dad, ever the ones to run behind schedule, held me up from arriving on time. When I got there, the procession was already formed and about to head out the door. I burst into the high school cafeteria without even my gown on. Everyone looked at me like an idiot. After graduation, the senior class got together that evening to hang out one last time. The funny part was that I'd never hung out with any of my classmates in a social capacity after school. Their final time together was my first time together. My memory is a little fuzzy as to the order of events that evening, but I know a large party took place at the Barnette homestead. I can remember being there for a short while, then at some point heading to someone else's house. I'm not sure which of my classmate's home it was, but it was in Kenbridge (on Broad Street if I remember correctly). I'm pretty certain the only reason I was invited was because I owned a copy of Friday on VHS. We sat in a basement and watched it -- Jeffrey W., Mary Catherine W., Thomas C., Tiffany S. and I. After the movie was over, I went home. It wasn't even that late, to be honest. I'm sure everyone else got into some hijinks after I left; but for me, high school was over.

One of the highlights of my high school years was the annual Library Club trip. Every year, our little group of nerds, brainiacs, outcasts and oddballs went somewhere cool to cap the year off. We'd always pitch in a little cash and rent a tour bus for the day. One year we went to the Smithsonian in Washington, DC. Another year, we went to Richmond and saw the Edgar Allan Poe Museum. It was always a cheerful time for me, wrought with eagerness and teenage angst. We'd huddle together on the bus, sharing CD's (remember those), drinking soda pop and play games. As I think back, it feels as if the time we spent just being teenagers on the tour bus was more important than wherever it was we were going. For just a little while, we were free to be ourselves and socialize. It was on one of these trips (I think my junior year) that I chickened out of my first kiss with a girl. B. (you know who you are, I won't rat you out) -- you intimated the hell out of me. I was just a shy, insecure guy. Can't believe I missed out on something most teenagers are dying to experience. I was a big wimp.

During my junior and senior years of high school, I had art class at the mid-day lunch break. Often times, Jeffrey W. and I would drive off campus and eat lunch. Mrs. Kunath, our art teacher, was a great woman who cut us both a lot of slack. She trusted us to leave and come back without causing any problems. Not once did we ever get into any trouble, partly because we were responsible. We looked out for her, she looked out for us. I've never forgotten those drives into town. Thinking about it now, Jeffrey probably just had me along because he felt sorry for me. I was a dork in high school and I'm certain he knew it. Yet, he took me along anyway. That was really cool of him and I won't forget it.

I cut my high school football field's grass for one year (my dad and the coach pushed me into it -- it's a whole other story). As payback for making me do it, I'd cut it absolutely terribly. I would change the elevation of the cutting deck up and down, do circles and go as slow as possible. Passive aggressive, much? Anyway, I had this Walkman that I'd listen to while cutting the grass. I was already miserable, so I tried to zone out and forget what I was doing to pass the time. I had a cassette tape that was filled with songs I'd recorded from the radio and off other tapes. It was my Football Field Mix Tape. Some of the songs on that tape were Desperately Wanting by Better Than Ezra, Counting Blue Cars by Dishwalla, Foolish Games by Jewel, Hook by Blues Traveler, Crush by the Dave Matthews Band and Everlong by the Foo Fighters. All of those songs have stuck with me over the years -- I still listen to them on a regular basis. It's amazing the things we cling to in moments of unhappiness.

That's all for now. If you are one of the people mentioned and want to chime in, feel free. Or, if you went to high school with me and have something to add, I'd be eager to hear it.

An Open Letter to Lunenburg County, Virginia.

My blog this evening will be a deviation in tone from the standard articles I normally publish. Those of you who have read my blog since the beginning will recognize the ire I'm about to share. For my newer readers... buckle up.

Broad Street, Kenbridge, VA -- A road to nowhere

To the Residents of Lunenburg County,

I had an in-depth discussion with my ever-so charming sister yesterday. She informed me of a particularly troubling situation, one that many of my readers in Southside Virginia will understand the context of. Apparently, there's an issue with the local community of which my siblings and I grew up -- Lunenburg County. I feel the need to clear the air. There is a terribly inaccurate narrative of what tore the Manning family apart -- one that's been largely fabricated by my father.

Our family imploded after a series of events following the death of our mother, Joyce. It was a long time coming, but her passing was the final nail in the coffin. After years of strife, physical and emotional abuse, it all finally came to a head. A few months following Joyce's passing, my sister and father were in a heated argument in which he physically assaulted her. I know this for a fact because I spoke with my father afterwards via telephone and he admitted as much to me. This was not the first time my father has physically harmed one of his family members (myself, my sister, my mother, etc.) -- long time readers of this blog are well aware of this fact. My sister ran away in fear for her life, only to be largely ignored by social services and the police within the community. Why? Because my father has keenly developed a cult of personality, one in which he is never wrong and always the hero of the story. Since that time, there has been no relationship maintained between my father and sister, nor has there been a relationship between him and I.

The aforementioned phone call, where he admitted fault, took place on December 27, 2011. It was approximately 10 PM in the evening. That was the last time my father and I spoke. We've had no contact since that point. During that phone call, my father talked of setting his children on fire if he wished -- they were his property to do with as he pleased. He clearly did not like the harsh judgment I levied against him, considering by the end of the conversation he hung up on me. How ironic... he hung up on me in our final telephone call; I hung up on his entire existence for the rest of my life. As far as I am concerned, he's just as dead to me as my mother. I spent nearly two years expunging my anger and grief over our relationship right here on this very blog. I'm not angry at him anymore -- I'm just disappointed at how ghastly a person he is, considering his inherent potential. There was a good man inside my father at one point; that man is now gone.

This entire story relates to the experiences my sister faced when she recently returned to the Lunenburg County area for a visit with a dear friend (you know who you are -- thank you for always being there for Julie). She encountered multiple instances of public scrutiny and rude comments from strangers whom believe they know our father. Apparently, the previously mentioned false narrative has floated around that my sister betrayed our family; that she spread lies about our father beating on her. This is just not true. Everything she has stated about her experiences is accurate. The Manning Family exists as a fractured mirror -- one that reflects the deep seeded agony of a family burdened by poverty, poor parental choices, jealousy, infidelity, avarice and a cycle of abuse that goes as far back as the Mannings have been in this nation. My friends, I come from a family of turmoil. The name that I carry is one I'm not necessarily proud of, but I aim to make it as decent as possible in my time. There will be no more Mannings to carry on this name, though. We are done. I'll burden no child with the sorrowful weight that this family has to offer. Out of all the vast Manning family children, grandchildren and cousins, myself and my two brothers are the last in line to actually bear the surname. I have no children. My brothers have no children. The nefarious blood of our family tree, which at one point was quite wide with many branches, will die with our generation. An entire family name shall be wiped out... and no one will shed as much as a tear.

Now, I speak to you, the well established families of the Kenbridge, Victoria and various other Lunenburg communities. You are well aware of who you are -- the family names that have circulated in Southside Virginia for an eternity; the Lunenburg Royalty, for lack of a better term. You consider yourselves to be the elite of the community -- the same ones whom cast glances of contempt at my sister, whom allow my father to continue his fantasy. Yet, here I am to tell you what few others will -- you are hollow, inept clumps of snobbish detritus. Just as I faced ridicule and scrutiny by your kind as I was growing up, you now turn an undeservedly judgmental eye upon my sister.

No -- you shall not do this without consequence. You will be publicly castigated.

You serve no other purpose than to continue the cycle of drama in your little fish bowl called Lunenburg. Never have I been so abashed of a community of people. And to think, many of you wonder why I left the area as soon as I possibly could. I despise most of you -- many of whom I attended Lunenburg County Public Schools with. Look at what you have become... pathetic excuses for human beings who couldn't handle the outside world. Many of you returned to Lunenburg after college. Why? What was the point of seeking a higher education, only to return home and not use it? Did you like being a big fish in a small pond? Did you like the comfort of an illusionary life? Or, did you just lie to yourself and say it was for the best? In the end, it doesn't matter. Instead of writing your own story, you've chosen to continue the stage play acted out by your parents, your grand-parents, and so on. You're all calamitous fools who couldn't see past the end of your own dirt roads and driveways. I'd pity you if I didn't think you were such deplorable scum.

I am deeply, deeply ashamed of what you, the Lunenburg County populace, represents.

Lunenburg -- You're a small town atmosphere filled with narcissistic ants, swarming over every little piece of gossip you can. You're the type of folks that hang out at Lunenburg Country Club and think you're powerful titans of industry. You eat at Mildred's Meals and believe your derriere has the scent of roses. You yearn over Timmy Dogs and the K-V Dispatch. You take skiing trips with your hunting club. You watch Charger football and kissed the rump of a certain bloated, clique-friendly coach. You go to your houses of worship on Sunday and stab your friends in the back on Monday. You form self-serving networks within the local fire, rescue and police departments for your own benefit.

You are everything that disgusts me about small town life.

Of note, there are some wonderful, compassionate people in Lunenburg County who have always been kind to me and my family. Just to name two that immediately stand out in my mind -- Jean Kunath (who always encouraged me to be artistic and treated me like an adult) and the departed Roberta Rickers (who inspired me at a very early age to treasure books and writing). I haven't forgotten what they did for me. I am very thankful. Without their influence on my creativity, I probably wouldn't write this blog day in and day out.

I've stated my peace. If the entirety of Lunenburg County was obliterated by a meteorite tomorrow, I'd breathe a sigh of relief. Good riddance.

You're not my home town, nor will you ever be.

Sincerely,
Jared Manning