All That’s Unseen

What does life look like in the coalfields of Appalachia in the 21st Century? What sort of life can a native Appalachian hope to lead? What happens when extreme views and harmful ideologies are introduced during the innocence of one’s youth?

Emilee Hackney’s book All That’s Unseen answers these questions and more.

When I first learned a Tazewell native was quickly becoming a bestselling author – let alone one who is telling a devastatingly real story of pain and displacement – I could not get my hands on the book fast enough. I tore through it quickly and carefully, seeing places and people I know throughout in startling clarity.

Hackney went to my high school, graduated just a few years after me, lived a life that was in some ways eerily similar to my own. To see the familiarity of her life on the page and know it is being spread worldwide is honestly nothing short of immensely beautiful to me. I felt exactly what it was like being in Tazewell during the time frames she discusses through her narrative.

Being a part of the church culture in Tazewell County, I also recognize the absolute potential of damaging beliefs being pushed on youths in that aspect as well. While never being a part of the churches she mentions, I had friends who were. I likewise found myself at times in older, more “traditional” churches where similar ideas were peddled.

Memories of sermons against homosexuality, secular books and music, even certain brands or companies that “donated to the Church of Satan,” according to the powers behind the pulpit, ran rampant through my mind while I was reading about Emilee’s youth. I felt a connection with this book that honestly blows me away.

Knowing the things she went through at the hands of a predator is also something I can not take lightly. One of the biggest illicit predators of Tazewell youth was actually arrested just a couple of years ago – a teacher at the very high school Emilee and I both went to. The high school I now teach at.

It is absolutely insane to think such people live alongside us every single day. They can put such a pleasant, normal mask on over their face of hideous hypocrisy and evil that people will still go out of their way to defend the monsters. I am beyond ecstatic that Emilee is being open about, not only her experience with someone who did these things, but about the way the community as a whole either just accepted it or brushed it under the collective rug. In today’s society, where predators and criminals are being made the norm and living life as publicly elected officials, it has never been more important to shed light on the truth of the pain and damage they cause.

What struck me most, however, is not just the similarities between Emilee’s youth and my own, but the power of the written word that captured another hurt Tazewell youth like myself. Where I moved more in the direction of fiction, Emilee’s calling was to immediately publish her experiences – and for that I could not more proud of her. Knowing another found comfort in the solidity of literature, that her story is her path to freedom, is just incredible.

Hackney’s writing is immensely fluid and sophisticated, with a nuance for the casual reader that definitely puts one in the mind of a mountain native. I found Hackney’s descriptive prowess and use of imagery, as well as literary elements of comparison, just amazing. Life in the mountains is not something you can survive without it making its mark on your soul, giving you an innate ability to call to mind those foggy mornings where the sun illuminates the world in a golden hue that is simply to die for, or those nights where the darkness is an impenetrable presence broken only by starlight and the warbling call of insects.

I could literally rave about this book for the rest of the day. Maybe longer. The overall point is this: You need to read it. ALL OF YOU.

Emilee will actually be in Tazewell on August 29th for a book signing at Tazewell Public Library for anyone who would like to meet her. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it myself, so I may have to have a friend get a copy signed for me.

One thing is certain, though. This book has definitely inspired me to pick back up writing a memoir of my own. It’s something I have struggled with for a long time. I’ve started and stopped writing it probably half a dozen times or more, always talking myself out of it, thinking no one would care to read it. After seeing a fellow Appalachian’s journey, however, I think that matters very little. I want to write it for myself. If for no other reason than to offer myself a true catharsis and freedom.

At the end of the day, this memoir has shown me again just how important it is to tell your story. Everyone has one. Not every one is for everyone, but every single one matters. You matter. Don’t let yourself believe otherwise.

The Age of Innocence

As another school year is slowly winding to a close, life moves back into the familiar mode of Summer (and yes, that’s Summer the holiday, not just summer the season). One of the good things about being a teacher, of course, is that we also get to enjoy some of the freedoms we can all remember from our youths – and it is a highly coveted thing. Even now I can remember the way things altered as the school year wound to a close. After all, as a kid, that’s the way life is split for you, typically. School and not school. Summer and not Summer. Play and not play. It’s just a fact of life.

The thing many of us never wanted to think about, though, is what happens when that separation is over. What life is going to look like when Summer just becomes summer, when time changes from being a split between school and not school. Apart from the days when we rested in the satisfaction of having that dichotomy we have only the nostalgia of looking back at “the good old days.” That’s where I find myself today, lunch block slowly slipping away minute by sleepy minute. I’m not alone in today’s reminiscence, though.

Outside my classroom windows there is a small lawn where the younger children in another section of our school have recently been going out to play on warmer days. Today they are out en masse, and my classroom and I have found ourselves immersed in watching their antics. From my students, between the ages of 14 and 17, myself in my mid-30s, and my school’s SSC who is older than me, we have all been drawn into their games.

Sun shining on the bright green lawn, clouds passing over just enough to provide a break for the eyes, if not the skin, the children who have been granted their momentary pre-noon freedom engaged in activities ranging from dodgeball, one-armed baseball, tag, sidewalk drawing, and their own games that seemed to combine some combination of all the above. It was just as amusing, for me, to observe the way we all reacted to their spectacle. We laughed when one of them got a win, or took a rolling tumble to avoid getting hit with the ball. Arms shot up in victory, while none of them showed the standard and dreaded playground separation tactics that plague older students. It was, in the words of our SSC, innocence.

It’s no secret that I do teach at-risk kids, that I myself could have been considered an at-risk kid based on my mother’s income and my status as a child of a single parent household. So when these students, whom many stereotypically assume are troubled and trouble-making, are taking the time to bond and enjoy life while living simultaneously through the playground games of others, it says a lot. Students, who sometimes have to live their lives on guard for themselves and their loved ones for fear of injury or worse, sitting in a classroom and talking amongst themselves while reflecting on the times they had in those playground settings truly puts things in perspective.

I see it as a highly important and therapeutic activity, in all honesty. The fact this allowed students who have to build walls in order to keep themselves safe to drop those barriers and look back on times of innocence means a lot to me as a teacher and a nostalgic person. Most, if not all, of my students know my room is a safe space anyway, and this secured that even more. I take pride in my efforts to meet my students where they are coming from in an intellectual, educational, and social-emotional standpoint. I ask them how they are doing, and they know that is not just a nicety. Seeing the way the games of others put a smile on all of our faces today, it really made me think that humanity as a whole is truly striving for the freedom of a child. The unspent innocence so many take for granted without even realizing they are doing so.

When we were children we couldn’t have imagined the way our lives would alter by the time we left school. That long-distant future was as unreal to us as waking up one day with no sun in the sky. Teaching high school seniors for four years has allowed me to see that change first-hand with others, and it’s impressive how well some handle it. Some students rise to the occasion with plans and schemes galore and provide themselves with failsafes to protect them in the event life gives them a turn for the worse. Others… Others slip on the cap and gown and venture out into the final great Summer with little more than hopes and dreams in their reserves to get them through.

Regardless of the way we approached the end of those playground days, the truth of life comes into play in just how much we allow ourselves the freedom to observe and enjoy the innocence of youth. Wherever life has taken us, it is important to remember those days of fun. The bonds of youth, of innocent life, of going outside and truly just enjoying being alive, are something none of should ever forget. The blessed simplicity of just living for the moment, not having to concern ourselves with what bills need to be paid, what stresses await us when we look through the checkbook or get back home, the idea that we are all just able to enjoy spending time with our friends or even alone is truly something to savor.

I know it isn’t always easy, but I recommend taking a moment to do just observe the life of youth. Enjoy a moment of watching children play without judgement, look at animals lounging in the sun, watch a river flow, anything that pulls you out of the stresses of life. We all deserve a moment to remember how good life should be. That’s the truth of our situations in the world. We have, most of us, forgotten that life is supposed to be enjoyable. It shouldn’t be competition and anger, stress and work, bills and class status. It should just… be. But until that’s something we can make happen, the next best thing might be to just relax. And, hey, while we’re at it, why not find a playground that’s empty and have some fun of our own?

Confusion and Grief

Last night, I found out my biological father died this week. No way to sugarcoat that information, really. I hadn’t spoken to the man in nearly 18 years, not for lack of trying. I sought him out time and time again, wanting to have a relationship with him, no matter how small it was. I put myself out there and gave it my all to try and be a son to a man who didn’t want to be my father. I’ve never gotten to share my accomplishments, my sadnesses, my truths, and myself with the man whose DNA I share. I might never have even known he was gone because of these decisions on his part.

I am forever grateful to the cousin who made sure I knew, also. A lifetime of potential memories gone. A lifetime spent wondering why I wasn’t good enough, if there was something wrong with me, if I would ever even know why he wanted nothing to do with me. Now I guess I will never know the answers.

I think that is the strangest part of the whole thing for me. I have thought about going to the last place I knew he lived and seeking him out, or pushing harder to find the relatives on that side of the family that are still alive (which, according to his obituary – in which my name is not even correct, I might add – is nearly everyone except his father), but ultimately have chosen against it. For the last few years, I honestly didn’t even know if he was still alive, with Covid running rampant as it did. Until his brother found me on Facebook last year and at least confirmed that much for me, that is.

Even until I got the obituary and saw the face of the man I barely remember looking back at me, some part of me said my cousin must be mistaken. But there it was. The first line in the obituary read that he died with his daughter by his side. A daughter I’ve never met. Not a biological sibling, I know now, but nonetheless, someone who mattered enough to him for him to raise. To stick by. To live for. Someone I never even knew existed. Did she know about me?

Did he ever mention me? Could she hold the answers to why she got a father figure out of him and I never did? Do I even want to ask?

Those questions and more have been flooding my mind for the last 16 or so hours, and I am no closer to deciding if they are even worth asking. I have a whole side of my family whom I know nothing about. My father’s obituary said he loved God, loved to cook, was a great dad. Two out three ain’t bad… we have those in common at least. Is there anything else we share?

There is a service for Scotty Wayne Osbourne on Monday. A time for those who knew him to grieve him, to say goodbye to him, to pay their respects for a man they now have to build a life without. Do I fit that mold? I know next to nothing about him. I only know life without him in it. But I’ve never gotten to say goodbye. I never knew I would have to. Until it was too late. Just like this time.

Childhood Love

Describe an item you were incredibly attached to as a youth. What became of it?

The biggest thing that comes to mind here is the stuffed Bugs Bunny I had as a kid. I’m not sure when I got it, but it was legitimately my favorite thing in the world. I always have and always will love Bugs Bunny, and this little guy went everywhere with me. The store, vacations,  libraries. Everywhere. I recall the various stages of “well-loved” he went through. From hearty and whole, to slowly becoming more threadbare, holes in his body, the wire that held his ears up starting to poke through the fabric. Unfortunately, I do not know what became of him, but I do know I would do a lot of sketchy stuff to have another one. I’ve seen some that are on eBay and online elsewhere, but they don’t look like mine. He would have been released probably between 1990 and 1995 if anyone has any clues on where to find one… what about you guys? What was your favorite childhood thing?