Yes, I am a great great grandson of a Confederate soldier that was mortally wounded in the Battle for Culp's Hill on the second day of the Battle of Gettysburg: July 2nd, 1863. I have Southern Pride, but fly both flags. It's my heritage.
First three verses of a mountain ballad I penned about a Confederate soldier who returned home to find his troubles weren't behind him.
The Night The Eagles Cried
His Rebel boots were worn
Torn and stained by the blood on the field at Petersburg
But they held together somehow
And carried him back to his Southern Mountains home
And though he walked with empty hands
In his head he carried an oh so heavy load
The old folks came a-runnin
Did he get the letter his mama had sent that August
And a fear came over him unlike he'd ever felt in that damned old war
The Cannons and the smoke
The screams of that poor young blinded Soldier
He knocked on his mama's door
Saw it in her eyes and asked her mama what's the matter
Heard his children's voices upstairs
Mama what's wrong, Mama where's my Barbara Sue
On a foggy August Night
damn fire took his home and his Barbara too
©2004 C A Whitehead