Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Hunter's Campfire Was my Appalachian family typical.

I saw a video of a ghetto mother whoopin' her teen age son with a belt. Hailed as a stern mother, that's all good, right? No, it's not. To me dad should be whoopin' him.


My parents came out of the mountains around Grundy Virginia in the mid 50's. My sister was born in Virginia in 1955 just before they moved. My older brother in 1957, me in 1959 and my younger brother in 1961. My parents essentially stayed in that Appalachian mindset as much as the could their entire life. They associated with Appalachian people mostly, others more distantly.

From birth until 9-10 years old us boys belonged to mom, nurturing and discipline, dad only whooped us occasionally. At 9-10 we became dad's. Big program change, the nurturing part was over for the most part and dad owned your azz. Discipline was hard, being with dad was like walking on egg shells. He didn't use a belt or paddle, he had a 5 foot hickory switch that he peeled, fire hardened and rubbed down with linseed oil. That thing would raise welts through your clothes and on bare skin could make you bleed a bit. Dad used to say, " This house is mine, that dog is mine and you are mine."

We started working with him at 9 years old. Every summer, after school sometimes, and every Saturday. He was a residential building contractor. On the job discipline was with a 4-5 foot 2x4. By the time I was 13 I was expected to know the tasks I was given and to do a man's days labor. The good side of that is when I was 16 I went to another contractor and made $7 and hour. $7 and hour for a 16 year old in 1976 was damn good money.

At 16 one evening at dinner I told my dad, " Monday I'm starting with Bob Masley" . I had expected to take a bit of a whoopin', didn't happen, but I was determined I would go no matter what. My dad said, " Did I say you could get another job?" I said "Nope" looking right at him. He just said, " You better work good for Bob." You see, in our family a son could tarnish the fathers name and his reputation.

So how does that stack up against how you other Appalachian guys were raised.

I grew up on a dairy farm in SW Virginia in the 50s and 60s. Didn't have to start working until I was big enough to carry a bucket. Gather eggs, slop hogs, feed baby calves, put up hay for us and helped others for 25 cents an hour. Mom and Dad were both firm and we knew not to cross them. Life was good, always had food on the table and a warm and dry place to sleep.

I spent the summer of 1956 as a 5 year old on my grandparent's 40 acre farm in Bristol VA.
They had two plow horses, 7 cows, an outhouse, a well house, 3 barns, a chicken coop, a pig pen, and tobacco patch for money.
They cooked on a wood stove and had kerosene lamps for light. Compared to Seattle, I had gone back 50 years in time.
At age 5 they put me to work hoeing the tobacco patch.
I loved it.

Yelp Bristol, TN. / Bristol, VA. I am not far from there, my friend.


You ever heard of Bloody Madison?