Poverty is in the eye of the beholder. My father grew up in the hollers of West Virginia in a small town that hasn’t changed very much (if at all) since he lived there. Oh, wait. They changed the name of the street he grew up on from Pennsylvania Avenue to something sounding less presidential. Other than that, I’d be surprised if anything had changed. His grandfather built the house he grew up in when my grandfather was a little boy in short britches. It was a big jump up from living on the family farm for them. Despite that, or maybe more because of that, my father grew up believing that all men are basically the same, some are good, some not as good, but all are capable of decency. None are of greater worth than another, and all are worthy of respect. Like J.D. Vance, my father was able to move away, find a way to make a living doing something he loved, to rise above the poverty of his youth. I’m not sure that money was his objective, he just wanted to fly, and to a young man in the 1930s/40s, it was an adventure and a dream. His closest friends, for all of his days, were some of those pilots with whom he shared ownership of his first plane, pilots that he shared those early years of flight with. He went back a few times over the years to visit those who still lived there, but he never wanted to return to live there.
“Americans call them hillbillies, rednecks, or white trash. I call them neighbors, friends and family.”
Vance’s family are among the many Scots-Irish who settled in the Appalachians, as were my father’s parents, and a few others who have read this memoir. There was a lot I could relate to what I recall of my father’s tales of growing up “economically disadvantaged,” although Vance lived in a larger area, and two generations apart from my father. What both have so strongly in common is the tie that binds them back to the place where they grew up. A tie that binds them to the journey from the child to the man.
“Hillbilly Elegy” is filled with the stories of Vance’s family, some are crazy-sad, some crazy-funny, some you just shake your head at, and some you can how the way he views things isn’t so far from how you might.
I especially loved Vance’s views on his struggles, how he learns from them, how he adapted maybe not to those struggles but from them, learned strength from his Mawmaw, and also how to fight from her, learned to love despite the imperfections of others and find the good in what remains. The hardest of all is seeing the good in one’s self, and he is no exception.
"How much of our lives, good and bad, should we credit to our personal decisions, and how much is just the inheritance of our culture, our families, and our parents who have failed their children? How much is Mom's life her own fault? Where does blame stop and sympathy begin?"