I Married a Hillbilly

When I tease my husband and call him a big ole goober he always corrects me and says to me, “hey I’m a hillbilly.” I always laugh but by God it’s official now – he is.

To rewind for a minute.....

I met hubby back in 1987. He was good looking and very well dressed. He loved to travel and was smart with a quick wit and sophisticated compared to most of the local yokels I was meeting while living in that little town.

I knew he wasn’t from there just by looking at his dress and demeanor and I assumed he was from a big city and just there for his career as a pit stop. But he corrected me and told me he was from a very small town in central PA – an old coal mining town. He told me his little town had 2 traffic lights on either ends of town. He talked about how he always wanted to leave and we bonded over that need to move on and travel.

Fast forward a few years and he was taking me back to his hometown to meet his mom. We went 1 block and we went through a traffic light and a blinking light at the end of the block. That was the town. What a hoot! Everywhere we went everyone knew him. Whether it was the local pharmacy or the local bar. Everyone called out his name and couldn't wait to see him and pat him on the back. Think Mayberry and what it's like for Andy to walk down the street - same thing here.

He had such a different upbringing. I thought living in the suburbs of a city made me a little bit more country – NOT EVEN CLOSE. He hunted and fished and ate things that I would never eat and most would consider road kill. Of course with an Italian mom their road kill had “sauce” on it.

Over the years we have shared stories of our lives and his always make me giggle. They are Leave It To Beaver meets the Beverly Hillbillies – without the money. I love to tease him about this when he walks out with two different color socks on (okay he’s a bit color blind but it’s still too easy of a target not to tease him!) or when he knows all the critters in a jeopardy category because as he says, he was “critter boy” growing up.

He received his invitation to his class reunion this weekend. (the last one he never got an invite due to moving) He opened the mail and he was laughing so hard I had to ask what the hell was so funny. He didn't speak he just handed me the invitation and I read it and then looked up at him with my mouth open.

“Is this for real or is this a joke?”

“Sadly Margaret this is for real. I told you I was a hillbilly”

“But what really strikes me as funny is not the fact that they are doing it this way but that it’s back by popular demand. Oh My God Rick.”
 He read it aloud while wiping the tears from his eyes.
“We have decided to make this reunion another casual affair, and celebrate “redneck” style, for the last one seemed to be a big hit. Come dressed in your Camo or Orange and join your classmates in a relaxing evening of fun and reminiscing.”

For you city folks here is the translation.....Camo = camouflage. Orange = orange hunting gear. (oh my!!)

“Margaret we’ll have to go shopping I haven’t a thing to wear”

“Oh, I don’t think I can attend Rick, I don’t look good in orange and without the right clothes  I just couldn’t handle the peer pressure”