My South

Let me tell you about my South, where Southern pride is mixed with peach cobbler and a dash of manners. In my South you said yes, sir or yes ma'am and if you didn't, you got the back of your mother's hand and being respectful to your elders was not just expected it was demanded.

In my South your neighbors look after you as if you were a member of their own family. I remember in my South the first day of desegregation. We were all scared of doing or saying the wrong thing, because my mother gave me a lecture and told me if she heard of me being mean or rude to any of the black children she would tan my hide. Both black and white student alike tried not to even look at each other. We were actually scared of each other, after all we were just children in a mixed up political world that had been turned upside down. As usual being children from the South, we of eventually welcomed each other as new friends and playmates. In my South on Sunday mornings, you could hear the church bells ring from one end of the county to the other. For Sunday dinner there was always Southern fried chicken with all the normal fixins. In my South men and boys alike put their women on a pedestal and respected them as if they were China dolls. In my South at the end of every school year, there was a picnic that included all of the children's families and some of the most wonderful Southern food you could imagine.

There would always be a softball game or two, and three-legged races and all kinds of activities to strength our appetites, for all the fine food and fixins our mothers had made. In my South the reputation of your family name was guarded like it was precious gold and if you had done something wrong, your father would tell you that you had disgraced the family name and dishonored your heritage. You see, my South was where all of the family’s that lived here and work here and died here guarded the reputation of our heritage up to and including our last breath.