And there we were, traveling a private, winding road up through a mountain forest. At times, the car was at a 70 degree angle as we whizzed along at 80MPH. I sat buckled in, tense and frustrated at my dad's reckless driving and at myself for taking a first-time road trip with him and my step-mom to his birthplace.
This Milwaukee born and raised girl was now in Alabama.
Rural Alabama.
For the first time.
Now before we began the journey on the endless upward winding road, I was scoping out the little southern town's idea of hotels. Since there wasn't a diamond star rated hotel within the vicinity, I decided the motel with a blinking neon VACANCY sign would have to suffice.
It'd be enough for me to retire on my own to someplace solitary after meeting this side of the family, giving hugs and recognizing traces of myself and my dad in their faces.
After endless, winding and climbing, the car slowed, entered a thicket and there it was, my aunt's house. My older siblings had lived in the south while attending an HBCU and would tell of houses leaning on sticks, but I never could get that concept together in my head.
Like, how does an entire house lean on a stick?
But here it was before my very eyes: a neat little house with bluish-gray siding and a nice wraparound sitting porch...propped up by a kickstand. And it was level. Seriously.
Dad put the car in park and turned off the engine. As I sat there marveling at this wonder of architecture, dad and my step-mom opened their doors and that's when sensory overload happened: a chicken flew up outside of my now-open car door directly to a branch hanging over the car.
Let me repeat this for those of you in the back: A. CHICKEN. FLEW.
No sooner than that happened, multiple roosters crowed and cats meowed Welcome or Go back to Milwaukee, I still don't know to this day.
via GIPHY
What kind of world is this at the top of a mountain in a thicket where kickstands support houses and cats and chickens live together in harmony and the chickens fly?
And then: Uncle PARCEY! My dad's name is Percy. He was hailed as movie star, and my stepmom and me as roadies.
There was an uncanny resemblance in all the faces of all the relatives. These were definitely my dad's people. My people. I could see where my dad's jowls came from, and years later, I now see those same jowls in myself.
Soon, dad's doppleganger cousin appeared: same haircut, same jowls, pigeon-toes, same smile except there was a space where front teeth used to be, and he was wearing overalls -- something my dad only would wear when he was painting.
Is this your DAWTER? She shore is perdy! I politely smiled a thank you and stood in stunned silence.
Finally, my aunt greeted us. She was my dad's mirror image if he would've grown his hair, shaved, applied make-up and worn a cute little house dress. She gave me the once-over and hugged me tight.
The mountain climb, the flying chickens, the meowing and even the kickstand was worth this moment.
Now I could peacefully rest in that hotel we passed with blinking neon light. We had a bite to eat; then, as we gathered our things to go there and check in, Auntie said:
Oh no! You can stay here!
Oh no indeed.
This Milwaukee born and raised girl was now in Alabama.
Rural Alabama.
For the first time.
Now before we began the journey on the endless upward winding road, I was scoping out the little southern town's idea of hotels. Since there wasn't a diamond star rated hotel within the vicinity, I decided the motel with a blinking neon VACANCY sign would have to suffice.
 |
| I'll take it! |
After endless, winding and climbing, the car slowed, entered a thicket and there it was, my aunt's house. My older siblings had lived in the south while attending an HBCU and would tell of houses leaning on sticks, but I never could get that concept together in my head.
Like, how does an entire house lean on a stick?
But here it was before my very eyes: a neat little house with bluish-gray siding and a nice wraparound sitting porch...propped up by a kickstand. And it was level. Seriously.
Dad put the car in park and turned off the engine. As I sat there marveling at this wonder of architecture, dad and my step-mom opened their doors and that's when sensory overload happened: a chicken flew up outside of my now-open car door directly to a branch hanging over the car.
Let me repeat this for those of you in the back: A. CHICKEN. FLEW.
No sooner than that happened, multiple roosters crowed and cats meowed Welcome or Go back to Milwaukee, I still don't know to this day.
What kind of world is this at the top of a mountain in a thicket where kickstands support houses and cats and chickens live together in harmony and the chickens fly?
And then: Uncle PARCEY! My dad's name is Percy. He was hailed as movie star, and my stepmom and me as roadies.
There was an uncanny resemblance in all the faces of all the relatives. These were definitely my dad's people. My people. I could see where my dad's jowls came from, and years later, I now see those same jowls in myself.
Soon, dad's doppleganger cousin appeared: same haircut, same jowls, pigeon-toes, same smile except there was a space where front teeth used to be, and he was wearing overalls -- something my dad only would wear when he was painting.
Is this your DAWTER? She shore is perdy! I politely smiled a thank you and stood in stunned silence.
Finally, my aunt greeted us. She was my dad's mirror image if he would've grown his hair, shaved, applied make-up and worn a cute little house dress. She gave me the once-over and hugged me tight.
The mountain climb, the flying chickens, the meowing and even the kickstand was worth this moment.
Now I could peacefully rest in that hotel we passed with blinking neon light. We had a bite to eat; then, as we gathered our things to go there and check in, Auntie said:
Oh no! You can stay here!
Oh no indeed.
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