The Shadow of Abe Lincoln & Jeff Davis

I’ve been writing for at least a few hours almost every day for the past five or six weeks, mainly about my days of growing up in West Kentucky. Our family worked hard, played when we could, and lived well if being fed, clothed, housed and healthy is the standard. Went to church at least three times a week and milked cows twice a day. We lived in a section of a border state that seemed much more Southern than neutral.

I grew up in the shadow of Abraham Lincoln and Jefferson Davis, presidents of both sides of that bloody conflict that sometimes pitted brother against brother, father against son, and often pitted Christian against Christian. Both presidents were born in Kentucky, within 125 miles of each other. From our farm in Todd County, we could see the Jeff Davis Memorial in Fairview. I didn’t read much about Jeff Davis but read about everything I could find on Honest Abe.

I admired him and Gen. Robert E. Lee. I loved being from the South but couldn’t deny the ugliness of slavery and racism. I loved growing up in Kentucky but have to admit there are lingering traces of darkness. As there are everywhere, not just in this country or on this continent.

I remember when Todd County schools first integrated. Hopkinsville still had “White Only” signs posted on some businesses and segregated drinking fountains. The list of prejudices I witnessed and was raised with would include racism, sexism, regionalism, religious bias, and my own perception that Ford built the best tractors and the worst cars, that Coca-Cola was better than Pepsi, and that Chevrolet made the best cars. Oh, and that Jerseys were way better than Holsteins.

Now, we drive a Ford car and have a Kubota tractor. I drink Diet Pepsi and A&W Root Beer, although I prefer the flavor of Barq’s. I am quite grateful that I don’t live on a dairy farm, have made peace with most Yankees, and am a non-denominational follower of Jesus. I use clear enunciation in most formal speaking situations, sometimes even going so far as to pronounce “g’s” at the end of words!

In my writing, and in fifty-plus years of introspective examination, I’ve achieved some semblance of balance in my perceptions. Still holding to the foundations of faith and fairness, I’ve learned to sort through my own history and various legacies with respect and careful judgment. To hold fast to the best and let go of the rest, as well as I can.

I believe that we should show ourselves and our places the same grace and patience that—at least in our best moments—we show to others. To be able to embrace our own heritage without insulting the heritage of others. To admit the imperfections of the people and places that we love and yet still cherish them. To deeply appreciate the contributions of our culture and sub-culture without cultivating arrogance, condescension, or hostility toward others. To look at all monuments—both near and distant—without feeling the need to bow down nor to spit on what others cherish.

To believe and demonstrate that loyalty to such things as truth, justice, and mercy should transcend borders, accents, political association, skin color, and all other decorations of the human spirit. To remember that we all—God bless us, every one—are made in the image of our Creator.

And that our love for Him is demonstrated by how we treat them.