I grew up as something of a cultural hybrid. While I was born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area suburbs, my parents were very much products of central Indiana. No matter how much I am in many ways alarmingly comfortable with concrete and steel, even as the cities I grew up next to (San Francisco and Oakland) have pushed me away via committing slow-motion societal suicide courtesy of embracing progressivism, there is still at least a bit of the country in me.
As the years have progressed, I’ve noticed how deeply parallel the threads run that tie the rural Midwest and South together. A fundamental love of Christ and family permeates both societies, a quiet and wry smile the only needed umbrella against the acidic rain of sneers about flyover country hicks. When joy comes from spending a Saturday summer evening sitting on a back porch watching the…
