Embracing my Inner Redneck

So this may sound like the beginning of a Jeff Foxworthy sketch, but it is rather true. As I was driving back to Birmingham for Phase 2 (Phase 4) of the move, I found myself in tattered blue jeans, a pale blue cowboy cut shirt, a baseball cap, and Birkenstocks, all the while drinking generic Piggly Wiggly brand Mountain Dew (aptly named Mountain Yeller) from a red Igloo cooler stationed in my passenger seat. My car was dirt covered with bug gut stains dotting the windshield; a McDonald’s bag now full of trash was stationed next to the open bags of pretzels (also purchased from the Piggly Wiggly).

All of these things together paint a rather telling picture of my inner redneck, but these signals had never really all been brought together into one all-telling collage until the drive. My outfit was old because I was moving. Why wear good clothes to move? A tattered pair of jeans and an old faded cowboy cut shirt work just fine. (I was going through my Brokeback Mountain phase when I bought the shirt, and it looks good on me! Cowboy cuts are flattering).

The Birkenstocks are not necessarily redneck, but they are sandals, and if you factor in the fact that I cut the back-strap off of them with my own pair of scissors (it was irritating, unnecessary, and leather doesn’t fray!), it makes sense.

The hat is a story within itself – so I should save it for another time. (Besides, everyone from preps to jocks to skaters to Ashton Kutcher wears baseball caps, so it's kind of a moot point.)

The dirty car is halfway my fault for not cleaning it, but also the fault of my mother for living on a dirt road. I grew up across the street and next door to a farm; the road used to be an agricultural cut through, and thus is still partially dirt. My mom still lives there – the house where I grew up – and the road leaves things dusty and chronically dirty. I never see the point really of cleaning my car – it gets dirty very quickly. While I don’t live there anymore, I do use my old bedroom as a storage unit, so I often go back for visits – where I park in the backyard.

The soda, I think, is the most redneck thing of the bunch. Mountain Yeller? What is that? (Delicious. Don’t knock it; it’s also cheap!) I’m not sure how far we have gone into the exploration of my cheap nature, but it knows few bounds. Recently, I tested the bounds by buying Walmart’s Honey-Nut-Spins (generic Honey Nut Cheerios) – not the same. I will never buy those again. I will continue to buy Mountain Yeller, however, because my taste buds like it – and it is half the price.

All of these elements combined left me wondering – what’s next? Will I buy a pick-up? (I recently thought about selling my car and buying my Dad’s old blue Ford Ranger, but decided against it.) Will it be 4 wheel drive? Will I go mud riding? Or will I follow in the footsteps of my Appalachian ancestors and take up bow hunting? Should I request that I inherit the multiple deer heads on the walls of my grandmother’s house? Will I develop a taste for beer…in a can?

Many questions remain. How far should I embrace this newly discovered inner redneck? Better yet – what is the appropriate balance of city boy to redneck that will allow me to have street-cred with both camps, yet not be confusing in its ill-conceived conglomeration?

These will be things for me to consider. Until then, I guess I’ll remain a city boy with redneck tendencies.