The Red Flannel Rag

It was always a mystery to me why my uncle left our community and moved to

Ohio where he lived the remainder of his life. All eleven of his brothers and sisters lived

out their lives in our home community.

When my brother told me about my uncle shooting the revenuer to avenge Tom’s

death, I felt tremendous pride — the same pride that my other uncles must have felt when

they packed his clothes and fixed him some sandwiches for his escape to Ohio. Then, I

suddenly caught my breath as I found myself thinking of one of my uncles taking

another person’s life. Not only were his actions illegal, but, by my values today, they

were immoral and intolerable. Also, he was one of my favorite uncles, the most gentle of

all. I looked forward to his occasional visits to our house. He caught me smoking my

very first pack of cigarettes when I was about eight years old. Instead of whipping me,

he put me on his knee and gave me a gentle talking to about how bad cigarettes were for

me — how they would turn my new teeth brown and make it hard for me to breathe.

So growing up in Appalachian tradition and eventually leaving to make my way in

a different culture resulted in my becoming a person with two identities. Once I

embraced the values of the world outside my community, I no longer belonged totally in

the mountains. Because Appalachian tradition was so deeply instilled in me, I have

never been totally comfortable in the world outside the mountains. Yet I have also, at

times, felt ashamed of the way my people lived. So I was destined, by circumstances, as

thousands before me, to “straddle” two different cultures separated by a small mountain

range. Never fully fitting in either world filled me with conflict that only those who

have experienced divided identities can understand.

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