One of the first things I did when I moved back to Michigan in 1996 was join a writers guild in Grand Rapids. That summer I attended their annual week-long workshop at Glen Lake. The 2nd night we had a potluck supper followed by an informal meeting with stories, Q & A’s, announcements, etc. Sitting in a big circle around the meeting room our leader for the evening explained our first activity: Introduce yourself with a short story about yourself that you think nobody knows. A lady sitting several spots to my left began and the rotation went away from me so I would be one of the last to speak. The stories were informative, funny, even profound and I was caught up in the camaraderie. Listening to the stories I forgot that my turn was coming up and was not prepared. Everybody focused on me and there was a long pause. I managed to say my name thinking something would inspire me but I drew a blank and another pause. When I opened my mouth this is what came out, “I am a Dirtboy from Missouri. I throw stones and sometimes I don’t play fair.” They liked it, some clapped hands, others hooted and we moved on to the next person.
A bulletin board on the wall with workshop highlights and quotes was updated to include, “I’m a dirtboy from Missouri. . .” I had branded myself with a new nickname. I keep in touch with writer-friends I made there and “Dirtboy” still pops up in conversation. Being a Dirtboy has little or nothing to do with where you come from. It is about the dirt itself, soil, dust, grit and I have an almost spiritual connection with Mother Earth.
Pigpen is a character in the Charlie Brown comic strip who travels in his own personal dust cloud. Charles Schultz, the comic strip creator described him this way: He may travel in his own personal dust cloud, but Pigpen’s mind and conscience are clear. He’s confident in who he is and carries himself with dignity and respect. He treats others well and hopes they will do the same for him (they often do not, but he perseveres). Pigpen takes pride that he is cloaked in the ‘dust of countless ages.’ I don’t think I can improve on that; “cloaked in the dust of countless ages.” Any comparison with Pigpen that includes me, I take it as a compliment.
As for being from Missouri; what can I say? Your current zip code or the one before that doesn’t dictate your backstory but it is real and people want to know. It gives legs to the idea; the most important decision one ever makes is choosing their parents. If you were born into poverty in rural Mississippi you probably made a poor choice; shame on you. We don’t get to choose where or to whom we are born. Missouri was a slave state and still clings to its Southern, rural, conservative roots. I don’t want to be from Missouri if that rubs off. Missouri is sometimes described as a sea of Red with two Blue islands (St. Louis & K.C.). I keep to the Blue Island, refer to north Missouri as West-South Carolina and everything south of I-70 as New Mississippi.
Moving away is just wishful thinking. I have a significant network of family and doctors here and too old to start over again. If being from one place or another is understood as where you feel most at ease I would be from Halifax, Nova Scotia. I spent a couple of summers there in 2001 & 2012. Good place, good people, good times, they keep their politics out of the gutter and their religion inside the church. I know a musician, song writer, we still keep in touch. After noting how crazy American politics are I asked her what it’s like sharing a border with us. Her reply was a gentle insult and she didn’t have to think about it. “Yeah, it’s like living next door to the Simpsons.” I bought her dinner and we joked about the bizarre neighbors next door. But for a guy who throws stones and sometimes doesn’t play fair, playing fair comes easier up there.
A bulletin board on the wall with workshop highlights and quotes was updated to include, “I’m a dirtboy from Missouri. . .” I had branded myself with a new nickname. I keep in touch with writer-friends I made there and “Dirtboy” still pops up in conversation. Being a Dirtboy has little or nothing to do with where you come from. It is about the dirt itself, soil, dust, grit and I have an almost spiritual connection with Mother Earth.
Pigpen is a character in the Charlie Brown comic strip who travels in his own personal dust cloud. Charles Schultz, the comic strip creator described him this way: He may travel in his own personal dust cloud, but Pigpen’s mind and conscience are clear. He’s confident in who he is and carries himself with dignity and respect. He treats others well and hopes they will do the same for him (they often do not, but he perseveres). Pigpen takes pride that he is cloaked in the ‘dust of countless ages.’ I don’t think I can improve on that; “cloaked in the dust of countless ages.” Any comparison with Pigpen that includes me, I take it as a compliment.
As for being from Missouri; what can I say? Your current zip code or the one before that doesn’t dictate your backstory but it is real and people want to know. It gives legs to the idea; the most important decision one ever makes is choosing their parents. If you were born into poverty in rural Mississippi you probably made a poor choice; shame on you. We don’t get to choose where or to whom we are born. Missouri was a slave state and still clings to its Southern, rural, conservative roots. I don’t want to be from Missouri if that rubs off. Missouri is sometimes described as a sea of Red with two Blue islands (St. Louis & K.C.). I keep to the Blue Island, refer to north Missouri as West-South Carolina and everything south of I-70 as New Mississippi.
Moving away is just wishful thinking. I have a significant network of family and doctors here and too old to start over again. If being from one place or another is understood as where you feel most at ease I would be from Halifax, Nova Scotia. I spent a couple of summers there in 2001 & 2012. Good place, good people, good times, they keep their politics out of the gutter and their religion inside the church. I know a musician, song writer, we still keep in touch. After noting how crazy American politics are I asked her what it’s like sharing a border with us. Her reply was a gentle insult and she didn’t have to think about it. “Yeah, it’s like living next door to the Simpsons.” I bought her dinner and we joked about the bizarre neighbors next door. But for a guy who throws stones and sometimes doesn’t play fair, playing fair comes easier up there.
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