I’m a Hillbilly

I never realized how pronounced my “southern” accent was until I started traveling. I lived 10 years in the backwoods of Southern Indiana. A region inhabited by poor Appalachians of Irish and Scottish decent. I lived in this region during my formative years, ages 10 to 19. I grew up in a more simple time, before any of the modern technologies we take for granted today. All of my friend were hillbillies. I was a hillbilly. I knew people living on dirt floors. My dad made me chop wood every year for our wood stoves. We didn’t have central heat. Our water came from a well and cistern. The well was great until and animal crawled into it and died, rendering it useless. We then relied solely on the cistern. It was a nice upbringing but vastly different from my earlier childhood in Cincinnati where I attended public schools and was by far the minority in my social circle. I used to hate where my parents raised me. Southern Indiana has a plethora of problems. During my time there, it was affected by drug use and lack of opportunity. I was sucked into the culture there and only got out because I joined the military. I was lucky. Many of my childhood friends have died from extensive drug use. Or are in prison. The forgotten hillbillies of Indiana. Until recently, I’d never thought about the affect my upbringing had on me. The other day, a lady asked me if I was from Texas. I was photographing her feeding some squirrels. The way she asked implied her disgust for me. But really the accent works in my favor. People assume I’m some idiot because I have a twang. It’s fine to me. I’m just a dumb dumb with a camera visiting taking dumb tourist photos.