By Troy Mitchell
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Great-Grandson of an Oatsman who is on a cardboard can
He came to our new country with extraordinary plans
My mother’s a short Quaker and my dad a Scottsman tall and
lean
I’m right there in the middle , you might say “ in between”
My skin is white like Casper and a newly fallen’ snow
The sun it always burns me then I’m right back to my old
glow
Father of two sons
I’m proud as I can be
I count my blessings every day, I’m lucky to be me
One young and smart and artistic like his Colombian mom
Another who is on his own and talented and tall
James, my middle name
is from my uncle and his Pa
Both of whom were Brewers of the nectar of the gods
Sometimes I am the Rooster with its early mornin’ call and
other times
a recluse like an aardvark in the fall
The banjo and the fiddle can bring a child to tears
but when they are played correctly,
It’s sweet music to my ears.
The music of this country from the Delta cotton fields and also
from the miners in the Appalachian hills
They are my drugs of choice while some others need the pills.
Live music is my medicine it heals my inner soul, I do not
play the instruments, It’s never been my goal
I dance like no one’s watchin’
I sing like you can’t hear
I love as if it never hurts
Let’s crack another beer!
About the Author
Troy is a returning student. After many years, he is determined to complete his degree. He is a Chillicothe native and is active in his community. Troy enjoys camping with his wife Andrea and boys, Sam and Logan, and attends many live music events throughout the year.