When you are growing up in a certain environment you never know you are a part of it until you are much older. I know now that I was a member of a select group collectively known as "white trash." As a child I assumed everyone had a couple of rusty old hot water heaters, Buick bench seats and miscellaneous metal items in their back yards, but one should never assume. As I began my ascent into adulthood and made out in Buick bench seats rather than receiving tetanus from their dislodged springs, I became increasingly aware that my life left much to be desired. So I moved on. I bought my own house with its own hot water heater and filled my backyard with patio furniture and plants. I feel as though my white trash days are behind me, though I must confess, I bought my patio furniture at K-Mart and my water heater is rusting around the edges. I I have to wonder, is this new life simply a thin veneer covering the fact that I am still trash at heart? Will I ever be any thing other than my beginnings? Can we ever escape our pasts, or will they always be there lurking in the back seat?
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