|Baby Jessica and a photo of my son and I|
Other than the details of my brothers murder, I have refrained from painting anything other than the beautiful details of my life. It hasn’t even been a highlight reel of the chaos and ugliness that I have witnessed. I love my southern roots, but the reality is southern women are raised to hide their problems. Cheating spouses, abusive husbands, and deadbeat dads are easily masked with a smile and a Sunday visit to the church pew. We are raised to fix our bleeding mascara, slap on some lipstick, put on our big girl panties, and pretend to the world that everything is okay. This might seem like the best option in a non-idealic situation but when it starts to eat away at you. The grief, pain, heartache, and unhappiness will eventually start to consume who you are. There is no amount of masking it. It will twist and contort your soul, and sooner or later you will become your problems. Little did I know, my pain began long before I was born. I am not just a product of a broken home, a broken childhood, or a broken heart.
If you have ever read my previous posts, you know my father comes from a coal mining family. Coal miners can often be like the black coals they dig from the ground. It shouldn’t diminish from who they are, but if you spent most of your life in the dark miles below the surface of the earth you would change too. They can be cold, hard, and rough. How many years does it take for a piece of coal to become a diamond? How many pieces of coal never make it that far? Long before the change occurs they often crushed and burned by mankind. Coal miners often endure a similar fate.
My father was a coal miners son. He was desperate to overcome his circumstance. Growing up in a coal mining camp can’t be easy. I have heard in high school he walked miles or hitchhiked to football practice. It is a reality for many children in southeastern Kentucky. The ultimate struggle to overcome poverty and circumstance. There are
|My dad and Phil Simms in the Morehead yearbook|
very few ways to get out, and for my father football was the only way out. It might seem like an insurmountable feat, we weren’t from a region of incredible football teams or players. The public high school he attended was in a rural area that didn’t always have the best fields or equipment. He made the best of circumstance. He became a football “Kentucky Headhunter” and eventually earned a scholarship at Morehead State University. If you aren’t from Kentucky and that team doesn’t sound familiar, my dad played on the same team as the future Super Bowl MVP Giants quarterback Phil Simms. You would think his life would change drastically but did it?
I think that this enough sharing for today. I’ll continue my story tomorrow. I am hoping my readers will slowly get a sense of who I really am and how I got here.
Happy Solemn Sunday,