Born into America’s working-class in rural America, I grew up angry and resentful at the village town fathers and professionals that looked down their noses at me. For example, when I moved out on my own at age 17, one of those town fathers refused to sell me heating oil for the winter, not because of any act of mine. I’d been working steadily since I was 14 and always paid my bills; owed nothing. Rather, my family’s reputation cast a cloud of doubt over me. It’s not politically correct, but I guess it’s accurate to say that we were poor white trash.
So, I set out to show these people just what I was made of. That anything they could do, I could do better.
I worked for a few years swinging a hammer, puddling concrete, and digging trenches, anything my boss, a general contractor, needed. Eventually, he agreed to let me work on weekends and after hours so that I could keep working full time while pursuing my education at a community college. I made good marks and earned a scholarship to attend university. The scholarship let me decrease my working hours to part time. After earning my bachelor’s degree with highest honors, I went on to graduate school and earned a Ph.D. Then I did full time laboratory research to pay my way through medical school.
But during the course of my education strange things were happening back home. While at university I was exposed to classical music and I liked it. Because I began occasionally listening to classical music, my family accused me of becoming a snob. I mean, it’s just music. I like going to a live symphony performance and even listing to classical music on the radio. But I’m still a head-banger. Rock and blues still dominate my music library just like they did when I was growing up.
The people who I used to hunt and fish with no longer invited me along. When I confronted them it turns out they assumed I something like a card-carrying PETA member; an animal rights activist of some sort. I assured them I count myself amongst those people eating tasty animals and would still like to hunt with them. But they never did.
My family was shocked when they saw pictures of my little daughters eating French fries at a fast food joint. They thought I was a health-food fanatic or something. I mean, really? I’m fat! Did they really think I got fat eating organic spinach?
For years I remained confused about my family’s unfounded perceptions of me, until…the Trump era emerged.
In the summer of 2017 I was invited to one of my student’s weddings. On the appointed day I made the journey back to rural America. Having over estimated the transit time, I arrived in the village a bit early. So, I went to the local pub to wet my whistle. The sight of a strange man decked out in his Sunday best walking into their little bar naturally killed the regulars’ conversation. Silently staring at me, their discomfort was palpable. Leaning on the bar, I ordered a draught and explained that I was early for a wedding. They all relaxed and we had a good time.
But the wedding reception was another matter. Everyone there knew I was the bride’s college professor and they didn’t like it. It turns out that now I’m considered the educated elite. Isn’t it interesting that an elite soldier or athlete is a good thing, but to be the educated or political elite is an insult; like we’re all privileged? I made some headway explaining I wasn’t born with a silver spoon, when things turned for the worse.
Someone, probably the bride, let it be known I used to practice medicine. Then the opioid addicts came out of the woodwork, berating me about how doctors are trying to take away their opioids. Of course, none of them were actually addicted, they all really needed their opioids.
Thomas Wolfe’s novel, “You Can’t Go Home Again,” really rings true. I’ve come full circle. As a young man those town fathers, those upper classes, judged me unfairly based on my lower socioeconomic class. Now that I’ve worked and clawed my up the socioeconomic ladder, my own people, those I grew up with and enjoy immensely, judge me unfairly because of my new socioeconomic class. I didn’t see that coming. Complete understanding only occurs after the event.
One of the things I love about this country’s educational system is that it doesn’t exclude late bloomers. I started college late and took a nontraditional route in earning my degrees. In many of the old world systems, my fate would have been sealed before I’d even grown up.