My Community. Changed it Has Not.
I grew up in a gemeinschaft community, however, I was not a part of it. My parents were my community, and that was it. Our town stuck together because they were Southern Baptists, and anyone who wasn’t just weren’t accepted. I wasn’t.
I would say that growing up, our town produced tradition-directedness, as everyone did just what they had been doing for the last few generations. Men worked, women stayed at home (the unfortunate ones had to work), and they all got together on Sunday for church and good food. I don’t know if my perspective changed because I was more conscious of myself, or because the town was actually changing, but as I got older, I noticed people becoming more aware of what their neighbors were doing; they were other-directed individuals, and it seemed they were engulfing the town.
I would say that growing up, our town produced tradition-directedness, as everyone did just what they had been doing for the last few generations. Men worked, women stayed at home (the unfortunate ones had to work), and they all got together on Sunday for church and good food. I don’t know if my perspective changed because I was more conscious of myself, or because the town was actually changing, but as I got older, I noticed people becoming more aware of what their neighbors were doing; they were other-directed individuals, and it seemed they were engulfing the town.
An old picture of a couple living in the same part of the country as my mom did when she dropped out of school in the 8th grade to pick cotton.
Remember Route 66? Here it is. It smells like burning tires and farts here, because this road is surrounded by oil refineries and the Arkansas River, which in this neck of the woods is just a hole in which we can throw sewage.
