My mother was a life long professional educator, aka teacher, like so many others in my family. She was done having kids but that's not the way the universe played out. I was a "change of life" baby. Bless her heart.
Mom chastised us for using improper grammar because it embarrassed her for us to sound like ignorant hillbillies especially in front of people outside of the family. Being from WEST Virginia my mom HATED to be called a "hillbilly" because in her day it was like calling someone "inbred and stupid". In her world, it was an insult.
Nowadays people take pride with the association when referencing themselves and/or their culture. I've even called my blog "The Hillbilly's Blog" because I've never minded people thinking I'm ignorant. They don't expect as much of you.
Mom's generation was WAY more concerned about appearances also- how the family was perceived by the community. Real or imagined. Status and the status quo. No drinking or smoking. People with tattoos were BAD people. Unless they were sailors or marines with just one or two small tattoos.
Only the hard-core bikers sported beards and/or long hair, rode Harleys and had many tattoos back then as a rule. The original one percenters. Not bankers, lawyers, doctors, real estate agents, and GIRLS like today.
I think my mom would've fainted had she'd seen a tattooed chick wearing ass-less chaps with a "th" (because there's not enough of it to call a thong) and riding a Harley Davidson motorcycle in a black microkini top with pierced everything.
For a generation who fought so hard for freedom they really did hate to see the free expression of it. My dad was the EXCEPTION to that. As much as my older brothers argued with him, in the 60's/ 70's he let them grow long hair even though my mother was NOT happy about it. He would tease them mercilessly but nobody else could.
"It's just a phase, Gorge"(short for gorgeous) dad would argue.
"What do you want me to do? Throw them out of the house? At least I know they've got a safe place to stay and food to eat."
Dad was way hip when it came to music as well. He would learn Beatles songs for the neighbor kids. There wasn't much back then as far as guitar sheet music or guitar magazines with what's called tableture that shows sheet music as a guitar neck with dots where you're supposed to put your fingers. No YouTube videos showing you how to play everything. Dad played by ear which I guess is where I got it from.
Whenever mom and dad were gone from the house for any length of time my brothers would fire up their band and drive the neighbors out of their ever lovin' minds.
The neighbors hassled my brothers to the extent of them having to rent an abandoned little house they called "the shack" that formerly served as a Baptist church. It was located all the way across four lanes of US1, about a 1/4 of a mile off in the woods not too far from the railroad tracks. And the neighbors STILL called the sheriff's office to complain about the racket.
One night the sheriff's department planned a raid on the shack of evil. The kids were playing that loud, Devil' music. They had heard about girls, underage drinking, drug use (a.k.a pot smoking) and, by God, they were gonna put a stop to it. The deputies convinced the high sheriff that it would be a major bust, lots of dope, lots a hippies for the army recruiter... It was going to be glorious.
The deputies formed up a posse and surrounded the little shack. The neighbors could hear the cops shouting over the bull horn, "Come out with your hands up now!" The deputies thought the kids were hiding out inside in the dark.
They decided to bust down the doors thinking they were going to do something other than embarrass themselves as well as piss the sheriff off. Needless to say it did not go well for the deputies who busted an empty house.
The kids had carpooled to the Grand Funk concert in Orlando. The deputies were shit out of luck with their plans to intimidate the children. And those were the good old days?
Dad had to go to the high school to set the principal straight on the fact that the principal and the football coach had "fucked with his boys for the last time". I could hear their assholes pucker up. I assure you by the fear in those mens eyes that they clearly understood the intensity of the words spoken by a man who had fought hand to hand with Hitler's elite and was standing in front of them NOW out of the shear meanness it took to survive. My brothers both graduated without having to cut their hair.
I don't know what it was like for my brothers because dad worked full time when they were kids. I know they learned to play guitar and mom made them take piano lessons when they were young but I don't remember them ever really playing with dad much at all. They were too cool to play dad's music.
My sister was 20 years older than me and was already in college by the time I came along. She could demonstrate how to play a lot of different instruments though she wasn't what we would call good at any of them according to what little I heard her play. Our standards being higher than normal for ability.
Cindy did have great pitch even though her singing voice wasn't very pleasing to me. She had a PhD and all kinds of minor degrees. She directed the community choir before she died at the age of 62. I survived my first few rounds with death but I'm almost the age now that she was when she stroked out.
Mom "sang" in the church choir but bless her heart she had the voice of a chicken, a hen being attacked by a hawk, bless her heart. Yes, it was that bad that it really required a before and after "bless her heart".
Mom wanted me to play piano same as her other kids. She jokingly threatened to "cut off both my arms" if she caught me with a guitar. But I had no interest in the piano. I wanted to play like my dad. That and, back then, pianos weren't portable enough for playing around the camp fire.
Every time company would come to visit, dad at some point in the evening, would grab a guitar to do what he jokingly called a "concert". He expected everyone to listen quietly-you didn't talk when dad was playing for you. He thought it was disrespectful to talk while someone was performing.
He was a natural frontman, being a licensed funeral director. He had a great sense of humor and was always the LIFE of the party. He could have been a doctor but much to my mother' disappointment dad said, "I like dead people, they don't gripe."
I'm blessed and fortunate to share this little slice of my history with y'all and I hope you find some enjoyment and happiness from it.
☮️❤️😁👣🎶🖖
Do you remember 1966? I got my brown paper bag. The folks forked over $12,500 cash for the house in unincorporated Bellwood, Fl.
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