Why We Do What We Do

Every now and then I’ll watch our kids in a state of wonder. It may be as we’re walking into the grocery store and they’ve taken a pace ahead of us, or when they go bounding off to the playground as soon as we’re in the vicinity. They are so much like us it’s sometimes scary, and like many parents, we hope that we are passing on the better part of ourselves.

In those moments of watching in awe, I think about the life we’ve led. I reflect on our many trial and tribulations, my years spent working in a call center cubicle to avoid a career working in the mines, my feelings of inadequacy as a father. I constantly compared myself to the heroes of my childhood such as my father, my grandfathers, and even my great grandfather, all of whom spent their lives toiling in the coal mines to support their families. Despite years of being told to do well in school to avoid a similar fate in the mines, I still felt as though I did little for my family compared to their sacrifices. I felt I was failing everyone.

I didn’t want to go into the mines, but over the years I convinced myself otherwise. I began justifying the decision any way I could. I wanted more money, to feel like a bigger man, and I hitched those ideas to the noble cause of giving my children a “better future.” I told myself I was not a failure for missing my chances at college. I told myself that being a coal miner was one of the most noble ways I could provide for my family, that this was the only way I could have a retirement, that we’d be happier with more financial comfort…the list goes on.

I convinced myself of so many things, all from a culture twisted by coal. 

For a time I thoroughly enjoyed mining. My love for all thing mechanical and technical was being more than satiated as I learned the processes and equipment. I could even begin relating to all the war stories I grew up hearing my father tell.  I had joined a club of proud and noble men, willing to risk life and limb working hundreds of feet below the surface. It was a pride that filled the void of my having failed to go to go college. I was somebody and I was making over $70,000 a year, more than many people with a Ph.D. were making. Not bad for a poor dumb hillbilly who was raised in a doublewide. 

At the same time, I knew something was missing. The companies had busted the union, and without it, the company always had the upper hand. It took me awhile to get a job, competing with stacks of applications numbering in the hundreds from other people looking to earn a big paychecks in an economically depressed area. The company did not need to give us constant reminders that we could lose our jobs if we didn’t produce enough coal. The section foremen were always under the gun and pushed the limits of our abilities—and sometimes even the law—to make production. I recall a specific young foreman, only 28 years old who felt he had to prove himself. Anytime someone else could be blamed for poor numbers, he would “lay the blade to ‘em.” It was a system that worked to the company’s advantage, increasing production using fewer and fewer miners, all being driven to stay in the good graces of the company, or risk being fired in an area where no real job alternatives existed.

The more I began to comprehend the situation, the more I realized how I had lied to myself and dishonored my heritage, and the more I hated myself for becoming what the  companies wanted. I began seeing how they’d turned the youngest generation of strong Appalachian coal miners—miners  who were once willing to sacrifice their paychecks for the common good—into hyper-individualistic coal company supporters, willing to do what was necessary to preserve themselves in a well-played company game. 

I left the mines when things became the most real, and now when I look at my kids, I realize what is

truly important—their health. I now know that all the coal we were mining and sending away would be hurting other people, other children. In the nearly five years since I worked in the mines and have been attended college, I have learned much more about the problems our world faces, and the systems that used much of our coal to make the rich richer while the poor were made poorer.

We are on a mission now. As a family, we are looking to find common ground with those trapped in the same economic way of thinking we had been, and those who know the problems and are fighting desperately to save the health of future generations. We are teaching our kids what we know and helping them to learn as we do, from people all over the nation. It isn’t easy, and many days we wonder if it will all be worth it—if what we are doing is the right thing and if it will be enough. What we do know is that quitting is not an option. We will keep doing what we can to help, in the best way we know how.