I wasn't born in West Virginia, although my father was. That make me half a Mountaineer. After last night's presidential primary, I'd just as soon not admit it.
My husband is a born-and-bred West Virginian, but believe me we are not your typical mountain mama and redneck hillbilly. More of them made it to the polls than we'd hoped.
Mr. Shrinking Knitter and I worked hard for Barack Obama in West Virginia. Not as hard as some, and I guess any effort was futile. When you hang out with like-minded folks, it's hard to see that you're swimming against the stream. In the past two months we've met some creative, intelligent, forward-thinking, progressive people who truly want to see this country make a change. We found ourselves hopeful that maybe, maybe, West Virginia could be a closer-than-expected win for Billary.
Um, not so much.
More disturbing than the final results, in which Obama won not a single county in this whole freaking state, were the exit polls. Mr. Shrinking Knitter and I watched, horrified, as those results flashed on our television screen in a steady stream, repeatedly defining West Virginians as redneck racists.
West Virginia's five electoral college votes just might make a difference in the final outcome this November, as they would have in the last presidential election.
After last night, I have very little hope of getting it right this time, either.