So Long, Country Bumpkin

[DISCLAIMER]

I find it humorous to discover the reactions of people when I inform them about my dad’s musical tastes and subcultural influences. At some point in life, my dad was reportedly a hippie—someone associated with the counterculture of the mid-1960s to early 1970s.

I used to hear stories of my dad’s adoration for the music of Iron Butterfly, Peter Frampton, and other rock artists of that time period. Then, in early adulthood, my dad took on the trade of a pipefitter. I was also told that member of his local labor union were country music fans.

Apparently flexible in his musical interests, my dad informed me that his all-white male coworkers eventually accepted him when he showed interest in culturally assimilating to their subcultural norms. This included the donning of cowboy attire, such as boots, jeans, and hats.

Having lived the majority of my life in Texas, I’ve only worn a cowboy hat as a playtime accessory when in childhood, I’ve never worn cowboy boots, and although I enjoy jeans, I don’t wear Wrangler jeans. Whereas my dad was amiable to some cultural influences, I wasn’t.

However, one matter upon which my dad and I could agree was our fondness for old school country and western music (now simply “country music”). People who are familiar with my blog content may find this fact somewhat confusing.

After all, I boldly claim to be the world’s foremost hip hop and electronic dance music-influenced Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy (REBT) psychotherapist. As well, I’m biracial (white and black). As such, some people may be puzzled by my keenness for country music.

What can I say? I’ve also expressed a taste for reggae, dancehall, rock, and other musical genres and associated subcultural influences. To use a tautological statement, I like what I like. (Picture me shrugging).

In any case, my dad used to boast that because of his pipefitting job he was able to have paid off his first home and two vehicles at the age of 19-years-old. It’s difficult for me to imagine how that would be possible under contemporary socioeconomic conditions.

Apparently, assimilating paid off in regard to my dad’s role as a country bumpkin, which one source describes as a hardworking individual who lives outside of town and speaks with a long, soft, southern drawl. Regarding this matter, I’m reminded of a song.

When living with my dad between fifth and seventh grade, he would sometimes exaggerate a southern drawl when singing country music singer Cal Smith’s song “Country Bumpkin” (1974). To those who judge the song by its unsophisticated title, I encourage you to set aside your judgment. Consider the first verse, which states:

He walked into the bar

And parked his lanky frame upon a tall barstool

And with a long, soft southern drawl

Said, “I’ll just have a glass of anything that’s cool”

A barroom girl with hard and knowing eyes

Slowly looked him up and down

And she thought, “I wonder how on earth

That country bumpkin found his way to town”

She said, “Hello, country bumpkin

How’s the frost out on the pumpkin?

I’ve seen some sights, but, man, you’re something

Where’d you come from, country bumpkin?”

In this verse, a country bumpkin is prejudged by a bar attendee. Rather than merely dismissing the man altogether, based on illogical and unreasonable (collectively “irrational”) beliefs, the woman entertains her curiosity by engaging in a conversation with the bumpkin.

When thinking about this matter, I consider how my dad used to tell me of his experience with black people from his neighborhood when they discovered that he enjoyed rock and country music. Reportedly, their reactions can be represented by the following syllogism:

Form (modus tollens) –

If p, then q; not q; therefore, not p.

Example –

If black people all listen to the same musical genres, then black people are undifferentiated from one another.

Black people don’t all listen to the same music genres.

Therefore, black people aren’t undifferentiated from one another.

Black people aren’t a monolith. Some blacks in the ‘60s and ‘70s listened to rock and country music while wearing cowboy hats. To suggest otherwise is irrational. Rather than approaching life with rigid hubris, my dad used a curious approach, as was the case in the first verse of “Country Bumpkin. The second verse states:

It was just a short year later

In a bed of joy-filled tears, yet death-like pain

And to this wondrous world of many wonders

One more wonder came

That same woman’s face was wrapped up

In a raptured look of love and tenderness

As she marveled at the soft and warm

And cuddly boy-child feeding at her breast

And she said, “Hello, country bumpkin

Fresh as frost out on the pumpkin

I’ve seen some sights, but, babe, you’re something

Mama loves her country bumpkin”

The bar attendee’s curiosity and willingness to use openness, honesty, and vulnerability led to the creation of new life. When singing this verse, my dad would dramatically motion toward me to express appreciation for his own child.

It was a mysterious matter, my dad’s willingness to declare that among his four children he valued most the creation of a son. One to support traditional values of biblical origin, sons were said to have served as the name-bearers of male familial figures.

Noteworthy, my dad subscribed to doctrine of the Jehovah’s Witnesses, so he refused to refer to anyone other than Jehovah as “Father.” This is why I call him “dad” within my blog. Thus, sons were perceived as special, because they carried out the lineage of their dads.

You may not agree with my dad’s perspective, though you don’t have to. It was his value and not yours. When singing “Country Bumpkin” to me, I interpreted what I thought was my dad’s intended meaning: You’re my one and only son who’s special to me and I love you. The third verse of the song concludes:

40 years of hard work later

In a simple, quiet, and peaceful country place

The heavy hand of time had not erased

The raptured wonder from the woman’s face

She was lying on her deathbed

Knowing fully well her race was nearly run

But she softly smiled and looked into

The sad eyes of her husband and her son

And she said, “So long, country bumpkin

The frost is gone now from the pumpkin

I’ve seen some sights and life’s been something

See ya later, country bumpkin”

I’d be lying if I stated that tears didn’t fill my eyes when listening to and writing that last verse. These aren’t tears of sorrow or regret, though tears stemming from unconditional life-acceptance and in regard to contentment.

Having known my dad, the fallible human being that he irrefutably was, provided me with deep insight into my own nature. I smile when thinking of how my late stepmom used to say, “Oou, you just like yo daddy!”

Said with faux disgust, she let me know that the proverbial apple didn’t fall far from the tree. My dad had a bit of country bumpkin in him and so do I. Similarly, my dad will one day depart existence in his current form and so will I.

Although I well up with tears when hearing “Country Bumpkin” and reflecting upon the days of yesteryear as my dad would sing to me in a southern drawl, I’m not self-disturbed about his impending death or that regarding my own. Death is nothing about which to be sad.

Just as one may erroneously prejudge “Country Bumpkin” as an unsophisticated song, given the name of the track and implied meaning of the term representing southerners in the United States, I find that people also mistakenly presume that life should, must, or ought to last forever.

While it’s exceedingly rare for me to issue a guarantee, I’ll do so herein. Life in its current form – as an organic, carbon-based entity that’s able to interact with the content of this blogpost – you will most certainly die. After all, life is impermanent and uncertain. You may even die soon.

That’s one lesson my dad taught me and for which I’m grateful. He didn’t lie to me about the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus, the tooth fairy, or any such nonsense. Rather, my dad taught his son about truth of reality: each and every one of us will one day say, “So long, country bumpkin.”

Now, I spend a significant amount of my time as a provider of care for mental, emotional, and behavioral health by instilling this psychoeducational lesson in people whose parents apparently didn’t have the courage or decency to tell their children about the inescapability of death.

Alas, some people willfully choose to remain stuck in a self-deluded cloak of ignorance. For such people, the frost apparently remains endlessly fresh upon the pumpkin. Thankfully, not everyone is willingly to lie to themselves in such a manner.

How about you? Do you unconditionally accept that the frost will one day be gone from the pumpkin? If so, have you informed your loved ones of what you think of and how you feel about them? As long as you’re still alive, there’s time for “so long” expressions, country bumpkin.

If you’re looking for a provider who tries to work to help understand how thinking impacts physical, mental, emotional, and behavioral elements of your life—helping you to sharpen your critical thinking skills, I invite you to reach out today by using the contact widget on my website.

As a psychotherapist, I’m pleased to try to help people with an assortment of issues ranging from anger (hostility, rage, and aggression) to relational issues, adjustment matters, trauma experience, justice involvement, attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder, anxiety and depression, and other mood or personality-related matters.

At Hollings Therapy, LLC, serving all of Texas, I aim to treat clients with dignity and respect while offering a multi-lensed approach to the practice of psychotherapy and life coaching. My mission includes: Prioritizing the cognitive and emotive needs of clients, an overall reduction in client suffering, and supporting sustainable growth for the clients I serve. Rather than simply trying to help you to feel better, I want to try to help you get better!

Deric Hollings, LPC, LCSW

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