Anyway, The Melting Pot City was day as much as The Blue Grass City was night. It was The Coal Miner’s Daughter’s turn to face some culture shock. She was the only white person for blocks. Now let’s take into consideration that I was the first black person she had ever spoken to. Luckily for us, the people on our block thought she was Puerto Rican. She was tanned and had dark hair and eyes. That was fine with me because at the time, racial tensions were running a little high in the city. To my surprise, this great melting pot city was segmented into different ethnicities. I remember one night we got lost. Believe me, when you are new to the city, it’s no fun. The way we found out we were going in the wrong direction was when we saw a white kid walking down the street holding a boom box, his baseball hat backwards and his head bobbing awkwardly. We turned around right away and drove for a few blocks until we saw black faces.
Oh sweet Kentucky marning, wey me wake up to de hills engulfed in mist, that hangs over de pond filled with them fresh water fish. Green trees brown grass, the scent of the mountains welcomes me. De bright red cardinals sitting on tree branches, de braying of horses on de horse farm. Oh de ole Kentucky home, where de coal miners toil night and day, and on weekend, when in season, men and boys go deer hunting, and everyone talks about U.K. basketball, as they sit on the hilltop, mere shadows in de mist, over looking de cows on de farm, whistling a chorus in harmony wid de birds .