Here is another story by daughter, Gail ----- Original Message ----- From: "Elizabeth W. Chandler" <CurtisandGailC@compuserve.com> To: "Jess Wilson" <jswlsn@prtcnet.org> Sent: Tuesday, June 17, 2003 8:18 AM Subject: The License > Paw...that story seemed to have met with some success..Shall we try another > one? This one is called "The License." Your daughter Gail. > (curtisandgailc@compuserve.com) > > THE LICENSE > The green hair did not pose a problem. Neither did the tattoos, > six piercings in each ear or the arrogance. When our daughter Tara told us > she was bringing a friend home from college, we knew to expect a unique > individual. Tara attended Antioch, a college that encouraged individuality > and consequently, all of her college friends brought surprises. So it was > not Shayna's appearance, it was the mention of the movie Deliverance. > They arrived after midnight in a black sedan bearing California > tags and several inflammatory bumper stickers. Shayna wore a black t-shirt > bearing the slogan, "Antioch, boot camp for the revolution," a metal > studded dog collar and jeans with multiple rips. She carried in lieu of a > purse, a green military ammunition case. Her first commentary on Kentucky > was not long in coming. "Is someone going to shoot me?" > She did not seem reassured by the quiet suburban neighborhood on a > lake, the feta cheese and imported olives supplied for a midnight snack or > the books throughout the house. She was soon painting verbal images of > shaggy over-hauled men with shotguns crawling into the subdivision to > attack her. > I may kill this girl myself, I thought. > I spent the weekend trying to convince Shayna of our exposure to > the outside world. I discussed the Louisville Center for the Arts, the > universities and the science museum. I left a stack of New Yorkers by her > bed. As they left on Sunday, she wondered if they would run into a > moonshine still on the way back to college. I managed not to comment to my > husband Curtis until they pulled out of the driveway. > Over the next three years, Shayna visited us often. The trip to > California was too long and expensive for Thanksgiving and she spent most > of them with us. She came to visit several times on Tara's pre-Christmas > birthday, the day we always decorated a freshly cut pine. She drew a Star > of David for the tree and we added it to our collection of favorite > sentimental ornaments. She sent beautiful thank you notes and gifts after > her visits. Still, she and I could not get past the "Kentucky" issue. > Antioch required all of their students to participate in a > cross-cultural work-study program. Shayna selected Thailand and within > weeks, managed to get herself kicked out of the country. According to > Tara, the placement advisor told Shayna the reason for her removal was "a > lack of cultural sensitivity." I had to laugh. > When the Shayna and Tara arrived for the next weekend, I quickly > realized how painful the incident was to her. She described the people, > events and the injustice of the termination. However, her parting words > transformed my empathy to furry. > Around the time I completed college, I developed a desire to learn > French but did not attempt the challenge because of difficulties with > pronunciation. The fascination for the language seemed to epitomize a > conflict in my identity between the mountain immigrant I was and the person > of the world I wanted to be. After I attended a bilingual conference in > Canada, I decided that despite language disabilities and fears, I would > learn French. I shared this with Shayna just as they were leaving. > "With your Appalachian accent?" she said with a disbelieving snort. > > My mouth opened but for a change, no words came out. I had the > ultimate, "I should have said" experience. Anger did not begin to describe > my emotional state as the sedan rolled out of the driveway...I boiled, I > fumed, I laid in bed at night planning speeches. By telephone, Tara > provided the most frequent ear for my tirades and she stayed firm on her > advice, "You need to tell her Mom and you need to do it so she hears you." > They arrived at 3:00 am a few days before Christmas. Not only was > I ready, but so was the coffee pot. I enjoyed the apprehension in Shayna's > face. Tara had forewarned her. Not deterred by her tired eyes, I said, "We > have to talk." > "Let's go outside, I need to smoke," she said as we stepped into > the unseasonably warm December night. > I started with childhood recollections of the funny paper and > Little Abner Yocum, the ultimate hillbilly stereotype. I reported comments > by the friends of my northern Indiana cousins. I explained the shoe > questions encountered by every Appalachian who has wandered outside the > mountains. I discussed the War on Poverty of the 1960's and the desire of > the journalists to photograph only the poor leaving the outside world with > the impression this represented an entire section of the country. I > explained the reaction to the regional accent we carry was an especially > sensitive point for with it, come questions about our intelligence. > "Being Appalachian is comparable to being the member of a minority > group. Members of such a group can make jokes. Only those who understand > the culture are invited to join, only when they are given a license and > then they must do it with great care. You do not know who I am-you do not > have a license!" > The sun rose a few hours later. We had a wonderful Christmas and > added some Chanukah traditions as well. I gave Shayna a copy of Creeker, > the autobiography of an Appalachian woman. > She called me a few weeks later. "I loved the book. It was > surprisingly well written." > I rolled my eyes but told her how glad I was that she enjoyed it. > She did seem to be making progress. > Shayna graduated from college with honors. She moved to a large > metropolitan area and works for a worldwide human rights organization. > Shayna has followed my war against the CBS planned reality show, The New > Beverly Hillbillies. Last week, she sent me a page from Newsweek > containing a quote from Zell Miller, Democratic Senator from Georgia. > "What CBS proposes to do with this cracker comedy is bigotry, pure and > simple. Bigotry for big bucks." > On the back of the envelope Shayna wrote, "Do I get my license > now?" > I considered the mileage left in the issue. "Naw, not yet."

Jess, Thanks to you and your daughter for utilizing your wonderful talent and your gift of sharing! Catherine Johnson Flores jess wilson <jswlsn@prtcnet.org> wrote:Here is another story by daughter, Gail ----- Original Message ----- From: "Elizabeth W. Chandler" To: "Jess Wilson" Sent: Tuesday, June 17, 2003 8:18 AM Subject: The License > Paw...that story seemed to have met with some success..Shall we try another > one? This one is called "The License." Your daughter Gail. > (curtisandgailc@compuserve.com) > > THE LICENSE > The green hair did not pose a problem. Neither did the tattoos, > six piercings in each ear or the arrogance. When our daughter Tara told us > she was bringing a friend home from college, we knew to expect a unique > individual. Tara attended Antioch, a college that encouraged individuality > and consequently, all of her college friends brought surprises. So it was > not Shayna's appearance, it was the mention of the movie Deliverance. > They arrived after midnight in a black sedan bearing California > tags and several inflammatory bumper stickers. Shayna wore a black t-shirt > bearing the slogan, "Antioch, boot camp for the revolution," a metal > studded dog collar and jeans with multiple rips. She carried in lieu of a > purse, a green military ammunition case. Her first commentary on Kentucky > was not long in coming. "Is someone going to shoot me?" > She did not seem reassured by the quiet suburban neighborhood on a > lake, the feta cheese and imported olives supplied for a midnight snack or > the books throughout the house. She was soon painting verbal images of > shaggy over-hauled men with shotguns crawling into the subdivision to > attack her. > I may kill this girl myself, I thought. > I spent the weekend trying to convince Shayna of our exposure to > the outside world. I discussed the Louisville Center for the Arts, the > universities and the science museum. I left a stack of New Yorkers by her > bed. As they left on Sunday, she wondered if they would run into a > moonshine still on the way back to college. I managed not to comment to my > husband Curtis until they pulled out of the driveway. > Over the next three years, Shayna visited us often. The trip to > California was too long and expensive for Thanksgiving and she spent most > of them with us. She came to visit several times on Tara's pre-Christmas > birthday, the day we always decorated a freshly cut pine. She drew a Star > of David for the tree and we added it to our collection of favorite > sentimental ornaments. She sent beautiful thank you notes and gifts after > her visits. Still, she and I could not get past the "Kentucky" issue. > Antioch required all of their students to participate in a > cross-cultural work-study program. Shayna selected Thailand and within > weeks, managed to get herself kicked out of the country. According to > Tara, the placement advisor told Shayna the reason for her removal was "a > lack of cultural sensitivity." I had to laugh. > When the Shayna and Tara arrived for the next weekend, I quickly > realized how painful the incident was to her. She described the people, > events and the injustice of the termination. However, her parting words > transformed my empathy to furry. > Around the time I completed college, I developed a desire to learn > French but did not attempt the challenge because of difficulties with > pronunciation. The fascination for the language seemed to epitomize a > conflict in my identity between the mountain immigrant I was and the person > of the world I wanted to be. After I attended a bilingual conference in > Canada, I decided that despite language disabilities and fears, I would > learn French. I shared this with Shayna just as they were leaving. > "With your Appalachian accent?" she said with a disbelieving snort. > > My mouth opened but for a change, no words came out. I had the > ultimate, "I should have said" experience. Anger did not begin to describe > my emotional state as the sedan rolled out of the driveway...I boiled, I > fumed, I laid in bed at night planning speeches. By telephone, Tara > provided the most frequent ear for my tirades and she stayed firm on her > advice, "You need to tell her Mom and you need to do it so she hears you." > They arrived at 3:00 am a few days before Christmas. Not only was > I ready, but so was the coffee pot. I enjoyed the apprehension in Shayna's > face. Tara had forewarned her. Not deterred by her tired eyes, I said, "We > have to talk." > "Let's go outside, I need to smoke," she said as we stepped into > the unseasonably warm December night. > I started with childhood recollections of the funny paper and > Little Abner Yocum, the ultimate hillbilly stereotype. I reported comments > by the friends of my northern Indiana cousins. I explained the shoe > questions encountered by every Appalachian who has wandered outside the > mountains. I discussed the War on Poverty of the 1960's and the desire of > the journalists to photograph only the poor leaving the outside world with > the impression this represented an entire section of the country. I > explained the reaction to the regional accent we carry was an especially > sensitive point for with it, come questions about our intelligence. > "Being Appalachian is comparable to being the member of a minority > group. Members of such a group can make jokes. Only those who understand > the culture are invited to join, only when they are given a license and > then they must do it with great care. You do not know who I am-you do not > have a license!" > The sun rose a few hours later. We had a wonderful Christmas and > added some Chanukah traditions as well. I gave Shayna a copy of Creeker, > the autobiography of an Appalachian woman. > She called me a few weeks later. "I loved the book. It was > surprisingly well written." > I rolled my eyes but told her how glad I was that she enjoyed it. > She did seem to be making progress. > Shayna graduated from college with honors. She moved to a large > metropolitan area and works for a worldwide human rights organization. > Shayna has followed my war against the CBS planned reality show, The New > Beverly Hillbillies. Last week, she sent me a page from Newsweek > containing a quote from Zell Miller, Democratic Senator from Georgia. > "What CBS proposes to do with this cracker comedy is bigotry, pure and > simple. Bigotry for big bucks." > On the back of the envelope Shayna wrote, "Do I get my license > now?" > I considered the mileage left in the issue. "Naw, not yet."

Hi Jess & all, I laughed out loud at this one! Hubby is from TN., and every time I go on a genealogy kick, he tells the neighbors her sent me back home to be retrained! LOL! Love your stories! Hugs, Katie ----- Original Message ----- From: "jess wilson" <jswlsn@prtcnet.org> To: <KYCLAY-L@rootsweb.com> Sent: Tuesday, June 17, 2003 5:44 PM Subject: [KYCLAY] Fw: The License > Here is another story by daughter, Gail > ----- Original Message ----- > From: "Elizabeth W. Chandler" <CurtisandGailC@compuserve.com> > To: "Jess Wilson" <jswlsn@prtcnet.org> > Sent: Tuesday, June 17, 2003 8:18 AM > Subject: The License > > > > Paw...that story seemed to have met with some success..Shall we try > another > > one? This one is called "The License." Your daughter Gail. > > (curtisandgailc@compuserve.com) > > > > THE LICENSE > > The green hair did not pose a problem. Neither did the tattoos, > > six piercings in each ear or the arrogance. When our daughter Tara told > us > > she was bringing a friend home from college, we knew to expect a unique > > individual. Tara attended Antioch, a college that encouraged > individuality > > and consequently, all of her college friends brought surprises. So it was > > not Shayna's appearance, it was the mention of the movie Deliverance. > > They arrived after midnight in a black sedan bearing California > > tags and several inflammatory bumper stickers. Shayna wore a black > t-shirt > > bearing the slogan, "Antioch, boot camp for the revolution," a metal > > studded dog collar and jeans with multiple rips. She carried in lieu of a > > purse, a green military ammunition case. Her first commentary on Kentucky > > was not long in coming. "Is someone going to shoot me?" > > She did not seem reassured by the quiet suburban neighborhood on a > > lake, the feta cheese and imported olives supplied for a midnight snack or > > the books throughout the house. She was soon painting verbal images of > > shaggy over-hauled men with shotguns crawling into the subdivision to > > attack her. > > I may kill this girl myself, I thought. > > I spent the weekend trying to convince Shayna of our exposure to > > the outside world. I discussed the Louisville Center for the Arts, the > > universities and the science museum. I left a stack of New Yorkers by her > > bed. As they left on Sunday, she wondered if they would run into a > > moonshine still on the way back to college. I managed not to comment to > my > > husband Curtis until they pulled out of the driveway. > > Over the next three years, Shayna visited us often. The trip to > > California was too long and expensive for Thanksgiving and she spent most > > of them with us. She came to visit several times on Tara's pre-Christmas > > birthday, the day we always decorated a freshly cut pine. She drew a Star > > of David for the tree and we added it to our collection of favorite > > sentimental ornaments. She sent beautiful thank you notes and gifts after > > her visits. Still, she and I could not get past the "Kentucky" issue. > > Antioch required all of their students to participate in a > > cross-cultural work-study program. Shayna selected Thailand and within > > weeks, managed to get herself kicked out of the country. According to > > Tara, the placement advisor told Shayna the reason for her removal was "a > > lack of cultural sensitivity." I had to laugh. > > When the Shayna and Tara arrived for the next weekend, I quickly > > realized how painful the incident was to her. She described the people, > > events and the injustice of the termination. However, her parting words > > transformed my empathy to furry. > > Around the time I completed college, I developed a desire to learn > > French but did not attempt the challenge because of difficulties with > > pronunciation. The fascination for the language seemed to epitomize a > > conflict in my identity between the mountain immigrant I was and the > person > > of the world I wanted to be. After I attended a bilingual conference in > > Canada, I decided that despite language disabilities and fears, I would > > learn French. I shared this with Shayna just as they were leaving. > > "With your Appalachian accent?" she said with a disbelieving > snort. > > > > My mouth opened but for a change, no words came out. I had the > > ultimate, "I should have said" experience. Anger did not begin to > describe > > my emotional state as the sedan rolled out of the driveway...I boiled, I > > fumed, I laid in bed at night planning speeches. By telephone, Tara > > provided the most frequent ear for my tirades and she stayed firm on her > > advice, "You need to tell her Mom and you need to do it so she hears you." > > They arrived at 3:00 am a few days before Christmas. Not only was > > I ready, but so was the coffee pot. I enjoyed the apprehension in > Shayna's > > face. Tara had forewarned her. Not deterred by her tired eyes, I said, > "We > > have to talk." > > "Let's go outside, I need to smoke," she said as we stepped into > > the unseasonably warm December night. > > I started with childhood recollections of the funny paper and > > Little Abner Yocum, the ultimate hillbilly stereotype. I reported > comments > > by the friends of my northern Indiana cousins. I explained the shoe > > questions encountered by every Appalachian who has wandered outside the > > mountains. I discussed the War on Poverty of the 1960's and the desire of > > the journalists to photograph only the poor leaving the outside world with > > the impression this represented an entire section of the country. I > > explained the reaction to the regional accent we carry was an especially > > sensitive point for with it, come questions about our intelligence. > > "Being Appalachian is comparable to being the member of a minority > > group. Members of such a group can make jokes. Only those who understand > > the culture are invited to join, only when they are given a license and > > then they must do it with great care. You do not know who I am-you do not > > have a license!" > > The sun rose a few hours later. We had a wonderful Christmas and > > added some Chanukah traditions as well. I gave Shayna a copy of Creeker, > > the autobiography of an Appalachian woman. > > She called me a few weeks later. "I loved the book. It was > > surprisingly well written." > > I rolled my eyes but told her how glad I was that she enjoyed it. > > She did seem to be making progress. > > Shayna graduated from college with honors. She moved to a large > > metropolitan area and works for a worldwide human rights organization. > > Shayna has followed my war against the CBS planned reality show, The New > > Beverly Hillbillies. Last week, she sent me a page from Newsweek > > containing a quote from Zell Miller, Democratic Senator from Georgia. > > "What CBS proposes to do with this cracker comedy is bigotry, pure and > > simple. Bigotry for big bucks." > > On the back of the envelope Shayna wrote, "Do I get my license > > now?" > > I considered the mileage left in the issue. "Naw, not yet." > > >

Dear Jess and Gail, Loved reading your story and as a big city girl entering Clay Co in1960 myself (as a young bride 19yearsold) I can relate to Shayna's thinking. I was at that time, of the false belief that people didn't live without electricity, running water or inside toilets anymore. Talk about your cultural shock. I was born and raised in Norfolk Va. and was dropped in Ashers Fork by a very loving husband who helped me learn about and adjust to the back woods way of living, My oldest 2 children were born in Clay, 1 at Red Bird Hospital and 1 at home (no Time to leave the house),a log house over 2 hundred yrs old. no electric, no water, no bath,no Dr. My parents in Va. had fits. But as a child in Va I also got to catch crawdads in the swamps close to the house and also had a tree house, I was quite a tom boy and spent most of my younger days with the boys. I have 7 brothers. I fished with string and safety pins and tried to catch minnows. You sure stirred a bunch of memories up with both of your last 2 stories. Thanks......... I loved reading your stories for a long time, Jess and now you and Gail are continuing to entertain the public. Again Thanks. Mary in Corbin @prtcnet.org> To: <KYCLAY-L@rootsweb.com> Sent: Tuesday, June 17, 2003 5:44 PM Subject: [KYCLAY] Fw: The License > Here is another story by daughter, Gail > ----- Original Message ----- > From: "Elizabeth W. Chandler" <CurtisandGailC@compuserve.com> > To: "Jess Wilson" <jswlsn@prtcnet.org> > Sent: Tuesday, June 17, 2003 8:18 AM > Subject: The License > > > > Paw...that story seemed to have met with some success..Shall we try > another > > one? This one is called "The License." Your daughter Gail. > > (curtisandgailc@compuserve.com) > > > > THE LICENSE > > The green hair did not pose a problem. Neither did the tattoos, > > six piercings in each ear or the arrogance. When our daughter Tara told > us > > she was bringing a friend home from college, we knew to expect a unique > > individual. Tara attended Antioch, a college that encouraged > individuality > > and consequently, all of her college friends brought surprises. So it was > > not Shayna's appearance, it was the mention of the movie Deliverance. > > They arrived after midnight in a black sedan bearing California > > tags and several inflammatory bumper stickers. Shayna wore a black > t-shirt > > bearing the slogan, "Antioch, boot camp for the revolution," a metal > > studded dog collar and jeans with multiple rips. She carried in lieu of a > > purse, a green military ammunition case. Her first commentary on Kentucky > > was not long in coming. "Is someone going to shoot me?" > > She did not seem reassured by the quiet suburban neighborhood on a > > lake, the feta cheese and imported olives supplied for a midnight snack or > > the books throughout the house. She was soon painting verbal images of > > shaggy over-hauled men with shotguns crawling into the subdivision to > > attack her. > > I may kill this girl myself, I thought. > > I spent the weekend trying to convince Shayna of our exposure to > > the outside world. I discussed the Louisville Center for the Arts, the > > universities and the science museum. I left a stack of New Yorkers by her > > bed. As they left on Sunday, she wondered if they would run into a > > moonshine still on the way back to college. I managed not to comment to > my > > husband Curtis until they pulled out of the driveway. > > Over the next three years, Shayna visited us often. The trip to > > California was too long and expensive for Thanksgiving and she spent most > > of them with us. She came to visit several times on Tara's pre-Christmas > > birthday, the day we always decorated a freshly cut pine. She drew a Star > > of David for the tree and we added it to our collection of favorite > > sentimental ornaments. She sent beautiful thank you notes and gifts after > > her visits. Still, she and I could not get past the "Kentucky" issue. > > Antioch required all of their students to participate in a > > cross-cultural work-study program. Shayna selected Thailand and within > > weeks, managed to get herself kicked out of the country. According to > > Tara, the placement advisor told Shayna the reason for her removal was "a > > lack of cultural sensitivity." I had to laugh. > > When the Shayna and Tara arrived for the next weekend, I quickly > > realized how painful the incident was to her. She described the people, > > events and the injustice of the termination. However, her parting words > > transformed my empathy to furry. > > Around the time I completed college, I developed a desire to learn > > French but did not attempt the challenge because of difficulties with > > pronunciation. The fascination for the language seemed to epitomize a > > conflict in my identity between the mountain immigrant I was and the > person > > of the world I wanted to be. After I attended a bilingual conference in > > Canada, I decided that despite language disabilities and fears, I would > > learn French. I shared this with Shayna just as they were leaving. > > "With your Appalachian accent?" she said with a disbelieving > snort. > > > > My mouth opened but for a change, no words came out. I had the > > ultimate, "I should have said" experience. Anger did not begin to > describe > > my emotional state as the sedan rolled out of the driveway...I boiled, I > > fumed, I laid in bed at night planning speeches. By telephone, Tara > > provided the most frequent ear for my tirades and she stayed firm on her > > advice, "You need to tell her Mom and you need to do it so she hears you." > > They arrived at 3:00 am a few days before Christmas. Not only was > > I ready, but so was the coffee pot. I enjoyed the apprehension in > Shayna's > > face. Tara had forewarned her. Not deterred by her tired eyes, I said, > "We > > have to talk." > > "Let's go outside, I need to smoke," she said as we stepped into > > the unseasonably warm December night. > > I started with childhood recollections of the funny paper and > > Little Abner Yocum, the ultimate hillbilly stereotype. I reported > comments > > by the friends of my northern Indiana cousins. I explained the shoe > > questions encountered by every Appalachian who has wandered outside the > > mountains. I discussed the War on Poverty of the 1960's and the desire of > > the journalists to photograph only the poor leaving the outside world with > > the impression this represented an entire section of the country. I > > explained the reaction to the regional accent we carry was an especially > > sensitive point for with it, come questions about our intelligence. > > "Being Appalachian is comparable to being the member of a minority > > group. Members of such a group can make jokes. Only those who understand > > the culture are invited to join, only when they are given a license and > > then they must do it with great care. You do not know who I am-you do not > > have a license!" > > The sun rose a few hours later. We had a wonderful Christmas and > > added some Chanukah traditions as well. I gave Shayna a copy of Creeker, > > the autobiography of an Appalachian woman. > > She called me a few weeks later. "I loved the book. It was > > surprisingly well written." > > I rolled my eyes but told her how glad I was that she enjoyed it. > > She did seem to be making progress. > > Shayna graduated from college with honors. She moved to a large > > metropolitan area and works for a worldwide human rights organization. > > Shayna has followed my war against the CBS planned reality show, The New > > Beverly Hillbillies. Last week, she sent me a page from Newsweek > > containing a quote from Zell Miller, Democratic Senator from Georgia. > > "What CBS proposes to do with this cracker comedy is bigotry, pure and > > simple. Bigotry for big bucks." > > On the back of the envelope Shayna wrote, "Do I get my license > > now?" > > I considered the mileage left in the issue. "Naw, not yet." > > >