Vestiges

Post-Impressionism / Vincent van Gogh/ The Bridge

When I get into arguments about politics with people my age, I find that there is a certain disconnect that I can’t get past.  I hesitate to call it this, but the divide is one of class and the beliefs and preconceptions drilled into the individual by their upbringing.  

Most of my friends are from comfortable middle-class America.  I harken from lower class America.  Middle class America was raised from the get-go to slot into a system and take their roles in what was thought to be an ever expanding galaxy of good paying middle management jobs with retirements, vacations at golf courses in exotic climes, and a new car every couple of years.  My buddies got this.  I am truly happy for them.

I came from dirt poor Italian truck farmers crossed with Appalachian moonshiners.  I was the first college graduate ever in either clan.  I grew up with distrust of the system (my Nona’s quote about banks was “lo stesso della mafia”) with a commensurate mistrust of all the greedy middlemen who tried to insinuate themselves into the chain from producer to consumer.  I don’t think that I need to detail the views of the Appalachian side.  

I made the attempt to join the middle class lifestyle, but I am afraid that it never really took.  Part of it was my distrust of the middlemen and another part was their distrust in me.  One of these days I need to sit down and write about the misadventures in the uppercrust that led me back here to the lowest strata of the middle (or is it the upper strata of the lower?)

So, while I want to get annoyed with them for their beliefs and prejudices, I have to remember that they are annoyed with me about mine.