Woke up at 6 o’clock, hidee of a moaning. Ellie Mae was already up cookin’ and cleanin’, proper wife, dern tootin’. I was putting on my britches, falling off as they were, and the wife called the family down for vitters – bacon and taters. I yelled: “I’ll be over yonder dreckly, y’all just havta wait a minute”, but I reckon she didn’t hear. Big woman, all 260 pounds of her, but still so little hearing. Betty was already playin’ possum in the kitchen and cryin’ that she hated school. Dumb girl ain’t doin’ well with the numbers and letters. 6 years old, still a baby. Don’t need no algebra. Heck, I don’t need no algebra.

Bobbie Joe was already gone to the coal mines. Boy’s only 15 and got so much potential. Glad he’s dumb as a doornail and dropped outta high school. Someone needs to do the work in this place. Girls be glad he’s such a strong man. We’re all strong, fine folk here in Beaver Dam, Kentucky.

After breakfast took the older girls to school. It was purt nigh time to go. Missy was all quiet in the back of the Oldsmobile, but Shirlene was yapping on and on about some granny-slappin’ good computer-machine, sayin’ that it’s 1996 and not the 80s anymore. Ain’t I got money for that townspeople play. Ain’t had got 2 cents to spare during her and her brother’s 15 years.

Didn’t get a lick of work done today at the gas-station. Had to pick up Betty from school early. Some kind of fly epidemic. Took her to the diner. The wife was waiting tables and I bought the kid a bottle of Coke and sugar cotton. Had to go back to work though – ain’t money gon’ earn itself.

Work was dull but quair. I was puttin’ on the feedbag with taters and some rich traveling folk called me hillbilly. Felt real bad. I ain’t even got relations in Alabama. Ain’t brother Butch or good ol’ cousin Otis been called anythin’ like that, ain’t even father been called like that. Things are getting like the real old times when papaw was still alive, God bless his soul. The 30s were real bad and the 60s, but I ain’t got time for those uppity folk tellin’ me how to live my life. They’re just white trash from New Jersey and ain’t got nothing on me. Just sin of the nation.

Picked up the girls from the county school after work. Missy was all gussied up but sweaty as a pig at Christmas. Boy, this hot heat has really been somethin’ this past summer. Took Shirlene to Lynne Beaver’s house to babysit her nosey kids. Told the girl to lay over to catch meddlers. Soon Missy’ll be having the same problem: girl done did got pregnant. And it’s no monkey’s uncle. Took her to Doctor Buster Hogg to check on her. Buster’s an ol’ pal from the trailer park days. Told her it’s a boy. Grows up to work in the mines probably, if I had my druthers. Like his Uncle Bobbie Joe. Still don’t know who the baby daddy is. Reckon his older than Missy. I’m 12 years older than Ellie Mae and she was only a year older than Missy when she got pregnant. I’m tellin’ ya, 16 is the new 17.

Got home with Missy just in time for vitters. Betty was having the awfullest tantrum – she didn’t like the fancy dress the wife had made her for her next pageant. Made me want to run to the moonshine. A badmouth kid. It’s bad enough the folk turning against the beauty pageants. And now the kid. The folk’s just been hit with the ugly stick. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ fancy. Let the younguns be.

We were watching TV when Shirlene came home. Bobbie Joe was supposed to be down in the mines for at least a week, so we didn’t wait on the boy. Like herding cats, getting the kin all together. Calmed my nerves with playing darts with Otis, whose staying with us until his verdict is announced. Boy beat up 2 rednecks at the Beaver Dam post office. Damn well deserved it – ain’t nobody gonna annoy the Dallas kin.

Before the sack I prayed a little. Wouldn’t want to get in trouble with the Man upstairs, I reckon. On Sundays we go to church with the family. Put on our good clothes and eat a lil’ better in His name. Gives good clearance to good Baptist folk. Not like the abomination in the name of Studley Tucker’s manloving boy. Sins will burn in hell and lovin’ another man is retarded. With that nasty thought in my head, I hit the sack at 11 with the wife. Kids already were dreaming. Hidee, good night-time.



I wrote my diary entry about a 45 year old hillbilly man named Randy Dallas and his typical hillbilly family. I chose this specific topic because it’s really easy and fun to write about one of the most mocked stereotypes in the United States – the hillbilly. I chose my era to be the 1990s, just as the taunting of the country people began to rise yet again, mainly thanks to television series anti-glorifying the life of simple rural people. The figure of the hillbilly gives the “norm”, the middle-class white people the opportunity to easily jeer at the “sin of the nation”, the people who live everywhere else than the cities, again, as we know it, the “norm”. I can say that it’s not surprising to see the hillbillyness rising again, because power (as in the power of people) becomes more and more unequally distributed as time progresses. Upstanding Americans want to exhibit what their cities can do and already have done, and what better way to do so than to degrade the ones who don’t have all of these opportunities?

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