A Welcome, to the White Trash and the People Who Love Them

There’s me, Rooster, in the dancing duds at age five, already practically screaming “Damn I’m cute.” We couldn’t afford dance lessons but I wore that outfit all the time, even to the Piggly Wiggly. That’s in front of my Aunt Lizzie’s fancy ‘real house,’ the first in the family. Note the scruffy yard (you can’t see it but there’s a Chevy truck on cinder blocks to the right.) I went to Aunt Lizzie’s every day to play with that adorable tyke in the Mickey Mouse shirt: my cousin Mikey, my inseparable best pal and childhood playmate.

He’s in prison now.

My mom tried to deny it, but the clues were everywhere: Trailer? Check. Dad who served at least one term in prison? Yep. Velveeta and Spam as a major food group? You betcha. We’re not trash, my mother would always insist. We’re poor, but we’re proud. And thus began the separation of myself between two worlds: The Poor But Prouds, and the White Trash. It was a confusing, tumultuous time.

But today, I have triumphed. I have merged those two worlds into one, and am now, forever, and always: Proud White Trash.

This blog will explore that world, both my personal experiences and the experiences of others. There will be interviews, memoirs, analysis of traditions and societal expectations, and much more, all with a true fondness and appreciation for the White Trash among us, and within us.

Please share your experiences by commenting below, e-mailing me, and submitting your own stories. This experience will mean so much less if you’re not a part of it.

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