Why I'm Counting Down: Primarily Exhausted

This is part one of a blog series about why I'm counting down to vacation, while I catch you up on all that has left an impression on me this month.

I remember feeling guilty at the end of the semester sometimes. It was bittersweet to begin with because we were usually saying goodbyes, even if they were temporary, but we were also opening up our lives to a much-needed break. Many times, though, I felt like I didn't deserve that break. Had I skipped too many classes? Had I put too much focus on the wrong stories? Had I been too disorganized?

Despite all those failings, I managed to snag internships every year that were related to my major. The writing came easily, and I was also a pretty good bullshitter.

The latter was an inherited trait from home. That's not to say I got that from my mother or father, and that's not to say that bullshitting is lying. To me, it's a cultural art and a rite of passage from my hometown.

There, in perhaps the liver--not the heart--of Washington County, you'll find all kinds of women sitting on porches, or porch swings, or around the "kitchen table" as the political candidates so frequently say. They're talking, bullshitting, about the neighbors, about their lives, husbands, kids, friends, each other.

Nothing much gets accomplished because it's just bullshitting. Maybe you leave feeling a little fuller because there's always food on that table or porch. Sometimes, if you're lucky, there's a card game.

I thought of those women this week and wondered who they voted for, if at all. My hope was that they did more than sit on those porches or around those tables, talking about the issues, and actually went out to vote.

Washington County chose Hillary Rodham Clinton by 60 percent more than Barack Obama, a number that I don't find surprising at all. There are a lot of women there who champion for her, even if silently. They identify with her. And they want to see a woman in the White House. Not only would that be a victory for her, but also for them. For some, it's the best stand they can make against their not-so-great husbands or any man that has ever derailed their lives.

Of all the places I've visited across the state or country, the southwest corridor of Pennsylvania remains one of the most astounding to me. What amazing women can tolerate and put up with there is incredible. Most of the women there raised many children before it was fashionable for dads to be involved. They learned to be kitchen-table cardsharks while their better halves, or broken halves, had their shots and beers at very-local bars. Unlike my peers today, they didn't complain about working full-time, making it to all the school events, taking the kids to the playground, getting dinner on the table and cleaning the house--all before dad got home from doing GodKnowsWhat in GodKnowsWhere.

I'm not implying that those dads were cheating or with another woman. And I don't mean to portray every couple or person in that area as I've described. But every person from where I'm proud to say I grew up knows AT LEAST one woman the exact way I've written about her.

And they know the men who belonged to a gun club, Slovak club, summer softball club, boat club or sportsmen's club. We can all agree the majority of those men didn't vote for Sen. Obama. We can all agree the majority of those men didn't vote for Sen. Clinton. And even though they are probably registered democrats, we can all agree that the majority of those men will probably vote for McCain. Even if they oppose the war, which some of them probably don't. And they probably don't know how many soldiers have died there either. Even if they complain about the gas prices, while some of them buy diesel for their Ford and Chevy trucks. Even if they do kind-of care about the environment, though nearly all of them probably still throw their McDonald's bags along the shaded areas of Route 88. They will vote for McCain because he is a white man.

Many times since I moved from there, it's been difficult for me to go back. I have trouble keeping my mouth shut when I see or hear blatant injustice or ignorance. I used to raise my voice all along the Monongahela River. I've gotten into arguments with neighbors about homosexuality, racism, women's rights, parenting and addiction. Then I realized it was hopeless. You can't argue with a drunk. Nor can you reason with someone who prioritizes wing night above civil rights.

Perhaps what I found most surprising growing up there was that most of the people who I believed became quiet racists and not-so-quiet male chauvinists were actually the same people who championed for equality in the 60s and 70s. They once believed in going anywhere and doing anything.

But they ended up or chose to go home, maybe get a job in the mill, maybe start a small business, maybe raise their kids near their parents. And by choice or chance, they built a life there and earned their living there. I respect that, even if I don't always agree with it.

And I'm thankful for growing up around them, among them, and I'm thankful that my beliefs were always my own.

While my hometown voted like the majority of the state to elect Sen. Clinton by more than half, the town where I now call home elected Sen. Obama over Sen. Clinton.