Saturday, April 6, 2013


I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks in a town called Roanoke, Virginia. You see when I was growing up and it still is today, the City was known by it's three sections:  Northwest, South Roanoke and Southeast. Northwest was where the Blacks and poor whites lived, South Roanoke was where the rich white people lived and Southeast had the poor white trash, and the white rednecks and the whites who were trying to move up the ladder. I grew up in Southeast.

Well, that was until my daddy decided to move us to Southwest Roanoke County. Now that was where the middle class was moving into as the farm land was being developed into subdivisions. My Daddy had great intentions and it turned out to be real good for my siblings but not so much for me.

He moved us in the middle of my 7th grade year and decided to keep taking me back to Lee Junior School in the City which had a reputation as being the badass school for white trash. I began my life in Southwest Roanoke County being carted back and forth to Lee Junior where the girls were as mean and trashy as the boys. I got beat up on the way to the bus after school one day by a gang of girls just because.

It was true, I never fit in at that school. I was a nice girl who didn't fight and I came from a family who had good values, a mom who stayed at home raising 5 kids and a dad who worked long hours to support us all. We went to church every Sunday and we all knew we were loved and cared for.

So off we moved and the persecution and abuse began. Now before I go on, I want to say that it was not all bad. We lived within walking distance of the neighborhood swimming pool and I have great memories of hanging with friends there. I played basketball all my high school years and had friends there. But I know Persecution first hand.

I won't own that I have felt anything like the Persecution others have, BUT, I never was accepted into the "life" of Southwest County Cave Spring High School because as soon as I moved into the neighborhood and kids knew from where I hailed, I had a label stuck right on me. I was the girl from SouthEast! White Trash, Redneck, and from the "wrong side of the tracks" were the labels I carried with me until graduation.

My Daddy was a salesman and did very well for himself and the family. Our home in SW County was very nice; mom didn't have to work; but money was tight and I didn't have the clothing the other girls had and I didn't get to go places, didn't get to be in dance, etc. I played basketball.

But I was happy for the most part, smiled all the time but so wanted to be a part of the popular group or at least the group that didn't have the label of "from the wrong side of the tracks" pinned on it.

I was rewarded with the nickname of Horseface by the boy across the street as I had a large overbite that couldn't be fixed due to money issues and a dentist who told my parents I had soft teeth and would not have an issue with "buck teeth". But you see I did. Horseface followed me for long after I graduated from the 99% white upper middle class school where all the kids got to have braces and expensive clothing (well, a large majority!).

In fact, when my ex husband and I started dating after high school (he graduated 2 years before me); we would frequently run into his friends from high school and the comment would be, "Hey there Bob! Oh, and Horseface? You guys are dating?" Needless to say he ran in the "popular" group at high school.

So why am I blogging about this? Well, that is how I ended up marrying this man. You see I was swept away by the fact that this guy from the popular group in high school wanted to date me, the girl "from the wrong side of the tracks." And swept away I was. It never dawned on me to look at who this man really was, who his family really was, or even how he too looked at me as the "girl from the wrong side of the tracks" that he was saving me and would turn into....well, never figured out that one....but I never met his standards that is for sure.

Being persecuted changes a person. Being persecuted has one seeing reality in such a different way. Being persecuted causes one to make decisions that are not always in ones best interests.

I think staying in my brother's mansion all week has led me to think about my past and my present. Yes, I can truly say that I survived! I became a Voice for those who too were persecuted, abused, disenfranchised, neglected, bullied, etc. I have a heart for all people no matter what side of the tracks they live on and for that I am eternally grateful!

So that is my blog for today. No pictures, just words so you can paint your own images. Cause you see, I know that probably everyone who is going to bless me by reading this will have their own stories to tell. Some so much more traumatizing, debilitating, and life changing than mine. And I honor your journey as I honor my own!

Blessed be and love to all as we journey together!


  1. ♥ you!!! beautiful friend and goddess!!

  2. Your story really hit home. Not in the way you might suspect. Thank you for writing from your heart. Let's talk when I see you in Roanoke this spring or summer!