You'll Never Leave Harlan Alive

I just got back from Walmart (the real Walmart, not the shady one), which is always a treat. I was in line behind a Latino family with four children under the age of, um, four maybe? The dad looked very stressed as if the entire weight of the world was on his tiny shoulders and the mom was looking like this was what she was bred for. After watching them for awhile, I got to thinking about how lucky I am to be standing in the Bowling Green Walmart.  Earlier, I had seen several young Muslim ladies wearing their scarves with pride whilst shopping for those rollback deals. One was so strikingly beautiful that I almost went over and told her so (but I didn't want her to think I was a werido). Bowling Green is home to a rather large international population because we have a refugee center. I absolutely love it. And so I began thinking about where they all came from and their life experiences. Which brings me to today's post and wanting to share with you some of mine.

I think I had a very unusual upbringing, especially for someone who grew up in one of the poorest areas of the United States. I did not, in fact, grow up in Harlan as the title of this post implies. If you've ever heard the song, you'll know it basically describes how many people grow up in eastern Kentucky hoping to leave, but many do not. Or they do and go back. Which is fine, but I've realized that since most of my friends have moved away, I don't really have anything to do there after visiting with family.

I grew up in Hazard, KY which is a small town in Appalachia. Both of my parents graduated high school, and both of them attended university. As did both sets of my grandparents, and both of my grandfathers were doctors. My brother and I did not have a choice in going to college--it was expected. I remember saying something to my mom about taking a year off between high school and college and she was like "Yeah, right."

About a month after I turned three my dad died, so from then on I grew up in a single-parent household. My mom worked to support her family and we never had want for anything. We even had another family--the Watsons/Lanes. Aunt Donna and Uncle Red helped raise us, so we were part of their families, too. They never had any biological children, but helped raise us as well as nieces, nephews, and neighbors. So, my brother and I always had many "cousins" to play with and even more grandmas! (you can never have too many). We were very lucky, blessed actually. It's a nice feeling to receive unconditional love from people who aren't blood-related to you.


Many of my childhood memories revolve around Vacation Bible School, or VBS. Anyone in the Bible Belt knows what VBS is; VBS is summer. From the time I was a baby, I was taken to church each time the doors were open. Uncle Red was a deacon, so he was always there, and Aunt Donna taught Sunday school and sang in the choir as long as she was able. I remember crawling under the pews, watching the ladybugs fly around the lights, and receiving a dollar every Sunday from Tom, a very old man who sat in front of us. I remember those old fans from the funeral home with Jesus pictures on them.

I am, as far as I know, the only Baptist in my family. My mom's family is mostly Presbyterian. I remember once my Grandpa talking about how he didn't like "Baptist red" (many Baptist churches have red pews or carpeting, signifying the blood Jesus shed for all the sinners). But I do remember a joke he made once about how Presbyterians are just Baptists who went to town.


My grandpa (mom's dad) was one of my most favorite people. He was an optometrist and well-known in the community as being a wonderful person. I had the privilege of interviewing him for one of my college classes just before he died. He would snatch the glasses right off of your face and make sure they weren't crooked. He always asked us how are contacts were doing and warning us not to clean our glasses with paper towels and to hold them with both hands by the stems.


My grandpa traveled to India several times beginning in the 70s. He and my grandma helped support a young man they met through friends, and so I grew up eating yummy Indian dishes my grandma learned to make from the wives. I learned to make one dish and pakoras, which are fried veggies. My grandpa had books and books and books on India and brought back trinkets and gold bracelets. I remember hearing a story about how he and his sister would "smuggle" gold bracelets back into the US.


I think this is where I get the traveling bug from. I always wanted to go to India with him, but by the time I was old enough, he did not feel much like going. I hope to go to India one day, but in the meantime I'll be settling for Uganda. I'm going to Kampala in July to spend a week working in orphanages. Yeah, really. I'm extremely excited about it and will be blogging about it from time to time.


It's nice to go home and be surrounded by those who love me the most. I know I can always go home and be with my family. There was a time when I didn't want to leave, but now I'm glad I did. I like Bowling Green and it's been quite good to me. Who knows where I'll be in 2, 5, or 10 years? For now, I'm content to stay here and see what life experiences are in store!