Culture Shock

I’m 6 years old. The oval-shaped river rock in my bed has long gone cold. I get out of bed and heave the rock back on top of the wood stove where it can reheat for my next bedtime.

It’s Saturday and I’m excited to go outdoors, despite the bitter cold. Today, my brothers are taking me sledding— one of my very favorite things to do in the winter.

We dress in many layers of shoddy clothing and we use several pairs of socks for gloves. Our “sleds” are any form of smooth plastic we can scavenge, but in a pinch, we use black trash bags.

As we head out the door, my older brother looks embarrassed and sad. We are sure to be teased, like always. Poor mountain kids and their lack of proper outdoor gear and “real” sleds are easy targets. At best, we are ignored and avoided, as if our poverty is somehow contagious.

We trudge on toward the sledding hill, determined to eke out every bit of joy from this day, no matter what—

A man clears his throat.

An uneasy laugh escapes a woman.

I look around the table, trying to remember what was said and by whom.

Eyes of blue and green implore me. Nicely styled hair and perfectly straightened teeth are all around. Their clothes appear boring at first glance, but actually scream old money to those who know.

My hand nervously reaches for my water glass. It brushes against my place setting: plates chilled and heated(!). I take a sip and realize the 6-year-old girl within will never cease to be impressed with tiny details such as these.

My fiancé gently squeezes my hand under the table as his family member politely repeats his question, “Do you ski? Or perhaps enjoy other winter activities?”