me, a hick?

I've just been accused of being a full-blown hick by a guy who had a mullet all through high school. I started to argue, but I really don't have a case.

The house I lived in for half of my childhood was on a farm, complete with an old outhouse and a pump (which we didn't use anymore). We lived off a dirt road, and had to walk half a mile to get picked up by the bus. Yes, we walked uphill, and no we didn't get a ride; we had one car, and Dad was already at work.

The one car was another matter entirely. It was an ugly brown Toyota, affectionately named Rusty, after thirteen years of being in the family. The bumper was tied on by green clothesline, the muffler was... well, there was no muffler; it was covered with rust sports, which were in turn, covered with a sickly white primer. People knew our car for miles around. Dogs barked five minutes before we heard it puttering into the town limits. It was sooo embarrassing.

We didn't have a t.v from the time I was 6 to about the time I was 13, because our old one (yes, it was, in fact, a 13 inch black and white...) was struck by lightning and since Dad thought t.v. was a waste of time, we never got a new one 'til vcr's later became a household name.

So what did we do for fun? We played hide and seek in the corn fields (yes I've gotten lost), we built forts in swamps and pretended we were bandits. Our sledding hill was also a cow pasture and once I rode right between a bull's legs. Luckily, he was more surprised than I was, and couldn't even resume chewing for 5 minutes, let alone trample and gouge me, as a proper bull would have done. For which I'm very grateful.

We also used to sneak over to the neighbor's and try to ride their untameable horse. We'd climb up the windmill 'til we were high enough to jump on her back, lure her over with some grass, and then hop on. We thenwould hang on for the ride of our lives 'til we either a.) were bucked off, or b.) fell off. By the time I was into my teens, I should have broken at least every major bone in my body, but I never broke anything. But it was a horse, and we thought we were gen-u-ine cowgirls.

My friends and I did numerous other incredibly stupid stunts as kids. We used to take our Tonka dump trucks to the top of the hill (on a HIGHWAY), and ride them down the hill, which, for being a toy, those babies could gain incredible speeds; however, at high speeds, they wobbled crazily by the time you neared the bottom and the scenery flashed by at a rather alarming rate... These things should come with a disclaimer. *Ahem* By the way Kids, don't try this at home...

City kids don't do stuff like that; they play Nintendo, and baseball and sell girlscout cookies and have lemonade stands. They have no idea what a cow looks like, except from picturees, and they probably couldn't drive a tractor if their life depended on it.

Does that matter? Probably not, but I think they miss out on stuff. Like what, you ask? Accidentally stepping in a cow pie? Well, that too, but, there's other things. They'll never feel big and strong when they can finally carry a 25 lb feed sack all by themselves. They learn a good work ethic (there's always work to do in the country), which most kids don't see as beneficial at all, but its good to know how to get the job done, and get it done right.

They'll never feel the wonder of seeing a newborn farm animal for the first time, or feeding it. For that matter, there's nothing quite like learning (without ever being told) just how that cute little bundle of joy got there.

You worried about less things too; my best friend taught me to drive on back roads in the country two years before I ever got my permit... :P You also didn't have to worry about getting kidnapped or having your bike stolen from your yard. There was no curfew set by the village, you could play as late as your parents let you, and you could be as loud as you wanted to. Its not like the cows were gonna call and complain.

Okay, so its not all cool; city kids probably have never, in the midst of the hated chore of throwing wood into the basement, gotten their mitten caught on a heavy piece of wood and thrown themselves down the stairs as well. They have probably not gotten stuck in a post hole (that looked like a great hiding spot at the time) for hours, while playing hide and seek (and gotten forgotten about, probably on purpose, by the older kids). They were probably never late to work because cows were lose on the road and they couldn't get past them... Or hit a skunk with the car on the way to a wedding... Or had a car so junky in definition that thier friends wanted it for demolition derby. Or when, after giving to their friends for that purpose, all the wheels fell off when they were hauling it away behind a tractor, and in doing so became the laughingstock of other area hicks (Yes, that actually happened). Even counting that... I still think I had more fun... AND, call me a little country hick, but I never had a mullet. :P But yes, I must admit it: I do know how to polka. Yah, sure, youbetcha!