Floating in the Middle

Yesterday, I was at the gym with my good friend Liz when a report about the congressional hearings for a possible Big 3 (automakers) bailout came on the television. It was one of those annoying shows where some "expert" rambles on for a little while and then takes phone calls from all the Joe-the-Plumbers out there. For the most part, neither of us was paying attention, and it seemed no one else in the gym was listening either.

But then, out of the blue, the talking head said something that ripped us all out of "The Zone" (okay, I wasn't in The Zone, but I'm sure someone was): "And now we go to Mark in West Virginia."

Mark? In West Virginia? WEST VIRGINIA?

"Oh, God!" I heard Liz gasp at the precise moment I muttered, "Oh, no!"

We know the reality: When "Mark in West Virginia" hits the airwaves its going to be a free-for-all with the hillbilly jokes. We braced ourselves as we awaited Mark's voice. When Mark turned out to be a well-spoken gentleman with only a hint of an Appalachian accent, we relaxed. You could actually hear the sigh of relief from all of us at the fitness center. We immediately began analyzing Mark and why he was a good representative of the people of West Virginia: He didn't sound like a hick, you didn't need an interpreter to understand him, his comments were reasonably intelligent...

On the way home that night I began to wonder why we, as West Virginians, react that way. I'm sure that when people from New York hear, "And now we go to Mark in New York", they don't freeze in panic the way we West Virginians do. For that matter, I don't think there are many people in this country that have to brace themselves the way we Mountaineers do. Then again, others haven't had to cope with the steady stream of prime-time insults that we have had to deal with: The poor, uneducated, shoeless hill folk that regularly appeared on "Night Court" were from West Virginia. On "Becker", Ted Danson once began the show with a rambling monologue about his morning being ruined by "some toothless hillbilly in West Virginia" who allowed his kid to have a gun. When Monica (on "Friends") was mislead into believing a romantic couple were brother and sister, she reacted to their display of intimacy with, "What is this? Cocktails in Appalachia?" The West Virginia jokes are endless... so we brace ourselves when we hear any mention of West Virginia on the television.

More than that, West Virginians are well aware that they don't really fit in anywhere. Thanks to a scuffle known as the Civil War, the South won't have us. Apparently, secession from Virginia in order to abandon the Confederacy and hook up with the Union was considered to be a treacherous act. And yet, leaving the Confederacy and joining the Union wasn't enough for the North to ever accept us. We've always been caught somewhere in the middle, this enigma floating mostly South of the Mason-Dixon, with one little finger desperately clinging to the North.

Maybe that's why we seem to seek each other out. In Denver, all I had to do to find other transplanted West Virginians was to don my WVU ball cap and head down to Woody's Pizza and Bar to watch a game on the big screen. The second I shouted at the television, someone would come to me and tell me that they, too, were West Virginian. Once, I wore my gold rush (WVU) t-shirt and walked across the University of Denver's campus during some sort of event. Half a dozen people happily cheered, "Go 'Eers" as I passed them.

We cling to each other because that's all that we have. We can move beyond the borders, but the second others find out where we are from, preconceived notions arise. We don't actually seek each other out, but we find each other nonetheless... maybe its God's way of making sure that even in a world where no one is like us, we aren't alone.

Still, though, I look forward to the day when the rest of America can see us for who we are and not as stereotypes. I look forward to the day when we don't have to wince when we hear the dreaded words, "And now, Mark in West Virginia." I look forward to the day when we can openly talk about the problems that plague us: poverty, lack of educational opportunities, lack of adequate health care, poor nutrition... and not have our portion of the discourse shadowed by the image of the eternal hillbilly. I have to believe that day is coming. I have to believe because I couldn't be here, doing what I do, walking amongst the poorest of the poor in the Valley of King Coal's Dry Bones if I didn't' believe that one day Appalachia will be a part of America, too.