If I had grown up in the world of Panem, I might have been a girl from the Seam. I am the descendant of migrant coal miners who settled in a seam along the Monongahela River several miles south of Pittsburgh. Settled into small row houses in the patch towns that snaked along the water, all within walking distance of the mine portal. My own father, when I was a kid, would come home from work with coal dirt staining the lines on his rough hands, a dirt that, incidentally, is very hard to scrub off. Perhaps this is one of the reasons The Hunger Games books strike such a chord with me. I can imagine myself as Katniss. I walked in the woods covering the foothills of the Appalachians with my father when I was a girl, learning what I could and couldn't eat. I learned how to shoot (albeit a gun, not a bow) early on. I idolized my father's gruff masculinity. I can imagine what it would be like to lose your early idols.
|Photo via the SWPA Rural Exploration Facebook Page|
|A portion of the World War II Memorial on the National Mall, that eerily reminded me of something that might have appeared in the pages of The Hunger Games.|
I admire the bravery it requires to memorialize the dark side. ~Alice
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