Redneck

What you see right now is a picture of a vintage telephone stand circa 1960s. It is currently being used as a bookshelf for very old VHS tapes. What you are about to read is an explanation/opinion.

According to Jeff Foxworthy, the definition of a redneck is someone who has "a glorious lack of sophistication." So, I have a confession to make. I... am a redneck.

Technically, in terms of my ethnicity, I am half-white (Scotch-Irish, Anglo-Saxon), half-Hispanic, 100% redneck. My white half has roots in East Texas where other freckled, ruddy people reside. My Hispanic half still has relatives in Mexico where other tortilla-y-frijoles eaters reside. I don't mean to offend anyone; I just want to be honest about my personal experience. Why else would I have VHS tapes on display on a telephone stand in my living room for all to see? It's a glorious lack of sophistication, y'all. My gene pool has "redneck" written all over it. Ain't no shame in that.

I'm sorry, but we Hispanics are totally redneck. Why else would we mix up a cornmeal-and-meat concoction, wrap it up in corn husks, and sell them to perfect strangers at laundromats? "¿Quiere comprar tamales?" No, thank you, I do not wish to help you violate the "No soliciting" sign on the front door. I understand that you're trying to make money, but seriously, do you see people of other ethnicities selling their own foods door to door? ("Would you like to buy some hamburgers?" Yes, of course, amateur chef. I'm sure you cook your meat quite thoroughly.)

I guess that's in my heritage. Many years ago, I went out to eat with my ex-mom, my aunt, and an ex-friend. We ate Mexican food. My aunt was culturally educating us on the differences between refried beans (which are usually cooked in lard) and charro beans (which are served whole, like a soup). My ex-friend observed later that during this culturally enlightening discussion, my ex-mom was like, "I like these chips."

I'm the same way. Last night, I was treated to a sumptuous meal at a seafood restaurant. I was surrounded by plates of trout, alligator, calamari, and Chilean sea bass. Do you think I ordered anything that fancy? Heck no. I had fried catfish on a bed of French fries. It was delicious. The catfish was so moist that it was falling apart onto the fries. I thought delightfully to myself, "Fishy fries." No Chilean sea bass for the little redneck!

No, I don't listen to country music, wear Western clothing, or speak in a drawl. (Because I'm a nerd who's picky about what music she listens to, and my style is emo-grunge-punk wannabe, and I was raised by two people who didn't really speak with specific accents.) I'm just a woman with a simple palate who's easily entertained. (Said the psychoblogger typing on her laptop in a quiet apartment next to two napping cats. Ooo. The Siamese one's belly moves up and down when she breathes.) I... am a redneck. And I daresay I'm not the only one.

"These six things the Lord hates, yes, seven are an abomination to Him: a proud look, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked plans, feet that are swift in running to evil, a false witness who speaks lies, and one who sows discord among brethren." (Proverbs 6:16-19)

After escaping life in a Pharisee's house, and while hanging out with God in His house, I've developed an ever-increasing hatred for keeping up appearances. (I'm not talking about the British comedy. I'm talking about always trying to look good in front of people.) It makes me sick. Why try to be something you're not? Just be yourself. For example, I hate it whenever a manager at work tells us to be on our best behavior because we're going to have company. At one point, we were instructed to all be at our cubicles working while future buyers for our company toured our floor. They even made me sit at another guy's desk temporarily while the strangers toured. (I'm sorry, but there ain't nothin' realistic in that. I mean, they seated me at a desk that was decorated with Cowboys stuff. I hate football. What was wrong with me sitting at my own cubicle with my own Scotch-taped cat pictures?)

Speaking of the company that bought us out, I'm not cool with how the Yankees treated us after they moved down here to take over-- I mean, work with us. Our company used to be creative and friendly. Now we're strict and rigid. The new people treat us as if we carry communicable diseases or something. I'm a redneck, but I bathe daily; I visit the laundromat once a week. Ain't nothin' wrong with being a Yankee, but do you got a problem with Texans? We don't bite. We eat tortillas, frijoles, tamales, hamburgers, and fishy fries, but we won't contaminate you with anything inferior.

There's definitely nothing wrong with being a Yankee, having sophisticated tastes, being professional, or being refined. That's classy, that's noble, and that's admirable. When it gets bad is when you pretend to be something that you're not, when you whitewash yourself for the sake of making yourself as shiny and slick as possible because you want to be better than everybody else. Well, guess what? You ain't no better than the rest of us. I know exactly what I'm talking about, because I used to live that way myself.

I think one reason why God hates the stuff He lists in Proverbs 6:16-19 is because it's all a terrible misrepresentation of what He's really like. For example, take the "proud look." If you genuinely in your heart believe that you're better than everybody else, I think God genuinely hates that. I think He thinks something to the effect of, "Excuse you, but who died and made you King? Are human beings not good enough for you? Do you really think you're qualified to be above everyone else? Technically, I AM the only One who's qualified to give anyone a proud look, but I won't." Check it out:

"Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus, who, being in the form of God, did not consider it robbery to be equal with God, but made Himself of no reputation, taking the form of a bondservant, and coming in the likeness of men. And being found in the appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to the point of death, even the death of the cross." (Philippians 2:5-8)

" 'As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.' When He had said these things, He spat on the ground and made clay with the saliva; and He anointed the eyes of the blind man with the clay. And He said to him, 'Go, wash in the pool of Siloam' (which is translated, Sent). So he went and washed, and came back seeing." (John 9:5-7)

I'm certainly not a theologian, and I definitely don't mean any disrespect whatsoever to Jesus, but I think in a way, He's a redneck, too. I mean, HE SPAT ON THE GROUND, basically made mud, smushed it on a guy's eyes, and THAT'S how He healed him! I think in terms of Jeff Foxworthy's definition of "redneck," this particular method of healing hits the nail right on the head. Yes, Jesus was definitely doing whatever He knew His Father wanted Him to do, and He was totally filled with the Holy Spirit, and I'm pretty sure He was just obeying His promptings... but come on. Making mud with His spit and smearing it onto the man's eyes sounds like "a glorious lack of sophistication" to me.

I'm trying to be humorous when I insinuate that my Jesus is a redneck. Jesus is the King of Kings. There isn't anyone more glorious than He is, there isn't anyone higher than He is, there isn't anyone more mighty than He is, and there's never going to be. But He wasn't trying to be all high-and-mighty. He wasn't trying to look good in front of everybody. He wasn't trying to be somebody that He wasn't. He was just being Himself.

And I should be, too. So, I'm a redneck. I store very old VHS tapes (because they still work) on a telephone stand in my living room because I need space for VHS storage more than I need a telephone. I stir my ice tea and Kool-aid with an old plastic cake-decorating spatula because that's what I was instructed to use many years ago, and I need something to stir my beverages with more than I need to decorate any cakes. I use a toilet-paper holder as a garment stand, as you may have read about previously, because I need a spot to hang clothes in my bathroom more than I need to display toilet-paper-rolls-in-waiting. In short, I make do with what I got. I do the best I can with what I have. From what I understand, that is the definition of excellence.

That's probably why the clay/mudpack in the guy's eyes worked when Jesus used it to heal. Jesus had spit, and He had dirt, so He took what He had and made a miracle. He still does that with me. I think He still does that with all of us. He reaches down inside us, grabs the mess, pours His life into it, and reshapes it into something new, beautiful, and healing. I think in His own holy non-redneck redneck way, He makes something genuinely glorious. He re-makes US.

My re-born gene pool has "property of Jesus" written all over it. Ain't no shame in that.