The first time I realized there was a distinct possibility that I was a redneck was when I was about 12 years old. When you are a kid you don’t notice stuff like that because you have other important things to think about like how to get to the good swing before Angie Vance when the teacher let you out for recess. Also, in my defense, I grew up in the heart of the Appalachian Mountains; so really, pretty much everybody in my town could be classified as a redneck. It wasn’t a bad thing. While life here in Utah is about as opposite as you could imagine from my southern upbringing, one thing that the cultures share is an enthusiasm for killing things. I don't really understand how shooting things is fun, but I also don't mind that others do. Growing up, my brother-in-law, Buddy, was and still is an avid deer hunter. We all knew that every fall and winter Buddy would be missing in action for a few weeks and he'd likely return with a deer carcass or two. As a result, I've had my fair share of deer chili, deer jerky, deer burgers, deer roast, and other deer meat concoctions. Again, I don't mind it so much. After one particular hunting trip, I happened to be at my sister's house when Buddy got home with the kill. I sat in the living room and watched him cover the coffee table with garbage bags. I didn't think too much of it until he dragged that deer carcass into the house and plopped it onto the coffee table. He then commenced to hacking at that thing right there in the middle of the living room. Honestly speaking, I still didn't think a whole lot of it. I just kept watching TV and playing with my nieces. The moment when it all became very clear to me was when I heard the dog and cat fighting and looked to see what the matter was. I looked down and saw that Buddy had thrown them a bone and they were fighting over it right there on the living room carpet. THEN it dawned on me that I was the people that Jeff Foxworthy made fun of. This was a moment that very well could have been illustrated in one of his You Might be a Redneck if... books. “You might be a redneck if you’ve ever had a relative chop up a deer corpse on your living room coffee table while the dog and cat fought over the bones.”
Fast forward about 20 years. Since then I’ve graduated from high school, moved to Utah, served a mission in Los Angeles, graduated from BYU, and have taught jr. high English for the past 9 years. There is really no part of my life that resembles redneckness. For heaven’s sake, I’m a Mary Kay beauty consultant. Fancy high heel shoes make me downright giddy. I’m pretty girly and I dare say even a bit prissy. Imagine my surprise tonight when I looked at my own living room floor and saw this:
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