You’ve eaten squirrel. You’ve shat in many an outhouse. And you’ve shot guns. Many guns.
Your Great-Granddad and Great Uncles weren't bankers.
I think my Great Granddad (middle) was one cool-looking badass.
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"Hillbilly" is of course in today's world, a pejorative word.
But, most of us hillbillies wear the label with pride, a big pride flatlanders can't understand.
Though I've been in New York City for 20+ years, and actually grew up in Southern New Jersey, I am still a hillbilly, because I came from hillbillies. And, I will always be a hillbilly, dagnabbit.
Now, let's take a country road to West Virgina.
You learned how to fire a minimum of four guns by the age of 12: BB, .22, 12-gauge, and an assortment of pistols.
13-year-old me taking shots with a .22 at Hills Bros. coffee cans.
My 17-year-old mom coolly blasting away in the snow down in the holler.
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Dad (foreground), trying to look like Clyde, but he's more of a Cletus.
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