Papaws

In the South, you do not have a 'grandpa,' you have a 'papaw' or 'pepaw.'  And maybe there are a few other Southern grandfather pet names I am unaware of.  I have two papaws, one is my blood papaw (sadly, I never met him) and the other is my papaw by choice.  He is my mom's best friend Sookie's father (got that one? lol).

My papaw by blood was a great man.  I have heard so many stories about him.  My granny was a little off her rocker and apparently my papaw kept her in line.  Sorry granny! :)

He was a cotton farmer.  My mom has told us that one of her favorite memories with him are the times he'd take her out into his fields.  They'd sit on the bed of pickup and he'd crack open a watermelon he grew in the fields.  The watermelons were warm and juicy and messy.  They sat and visited (you don't talk in the South, you visit) and just spent time together covered in watermelon juice.

He was also funny.  He was missing one arm.  He had accidentaly blown it off in some sort of accident.  From time to time, he would have to drive my mom and her best friend, Sookie, somewhere.  My mom would tell Sookie to get in the middle seat of the pickup truck.  Sookie would fight her on this but usually lost.  I'm sure his truck had a manual transmission.  He would ask Sookie, "Do you know what it feels like when a horse bites an apple?" She would scream because at that moment he took his one hand and grabbed on to her knee.  No hands on the stick shift or the steering wheel.  He and mom would just laugh and laugh but Sookie was terrified. 

My papaw by choice, Sookie's dad, is also a great man.  When a grown man tells you to call him 'Papaw' like the other kids that makes him a great man.  My papaw doesn't speak a lot of his mind but he shows who he is in his actions.  He walks to church on Sundays instead of riding with my mamaw so he can think and pray.  I always wondered why he did that but now that I'm older, I understand.  I love the way he says in his deep Southern voice, "Well, hey girl!" whenever he sees me.

I'm so blessed to have such great men in my life.  Hope you have some great men in your life too.

That Smell

If you've never smelled a magnolia, you have never lived.  I'm sorry, but you have really been missing out.

When I was a kid, we had four pecan trees and one magnolia tree in our yard.  The pecans were always sour.  Some bugs were in the tree or something.  But our magnolia tree grew big, beautiful blossoms every year.  I remember looking up into the tree around Mother's day hoping I could get one to give my mom (yes, I called her 'mom,' she wouldn't let me call her 'momma' like any normal Southern kid).  They always came a little too late for Mother's Day and were gone a little before her birthday in late July.

I was an expert tree climber.  I didn't wear shoes and usually had a frog tucked away somewhere, too.  You defintely wouldn't guess that now.  Magnolia trees are nearly impossible to climb, even for an expert like me.  So, I just had to wait for a real crappy one to fall off or stretch my little 7 year old body as much as I could to reach one.  I still loved those flowers though. Even the leaves on the tree were pretty.  A beautiful dark shade of shiny green on one side and the other was a soft, velvety green.

I can just smell that flower like it's in front of my nose.  Takes me back to hot summer days lookin' up that magnolia tree hoping Mrs. Louise across the street don't tell my mom I'm shaking the branches as hard as possible hoping one will fall for me to give her.

The South just makes you happy.

1993

1993 is the year we moved to small town Arkansas.  About 1,800 people lived in our town.  The school was my third 1st grade that year.  That takes a toll on a kid.  I went to school everyday and cried all day.  I cried during the pledge, spelling tests, recess, walking down the hall, just about anytime someone could cry.  It's a pretty sad existence for a six year old.

My dad was away working so I didn't see him much at this point.  I blamed my constant tears on that fact.  I never knew why I was so sad.  Years later, I realized I probably suffered from childhood depression.
My mom decided to have me compete in a pageant.  Yeah, I know, you're thinking about Toddlers and Tiaras and Jon Benet Ramsey.  It was not that kind of pageant.  My mom rolled my blonde hair up in those awful pink sponge rollers and I had to sleep like that.  She sprayed a ton of Paul Mitchell hairspray on my hair.  I still love the smell of that stuff because of the good memories.  We borrowed a dress from Mrs. Donna (yes, Mrs. Donna, you use a Mrs, Ms, or Mr in the South because that's how it should be).  Everyone who wore this dress had won.  It was a pretty pink with lots of satiny ruffles and sparkles.  Mrs. Jeannete did my make up.  We practiced at the high school auditorium, where the pageant would be held.  They told me how to walk, turn, keep eye contact with the judges, and smile the entire time.

The night of the pageant came and I was excitedly nervous. You know when you're little and everyone just tells you something is going to be great but you aren't quite so sure?  Well, with risk comes reward.  I walked across the stage smiling and keeping eye contact with the judges.  I played with the ruffles of my dress the entire time, a huge pageant no-no.  After they said what my favorite food was, I walked off stage.

Then, came the line up behind the curtains to announce the winner.  They called all the other girls to line up.  They were all pageant professionals.  I was the only pageant virgin.  I was getting nervous that everyone had been called but finally, I was the last to be called.  All the other girls said in their sweet little Southern voices, "You won! You won!"  I was excited but didn't really believe them until they called the first girl in line onto the stage as third runner up and so on and so on.

I was Petite Miss of the town.  I got to ride in the parade in my teenage cousin's convertible.  That made me feel so cool.  My mom put a huge Southern bow in my hair and I waved my practiced pageant wave to all the parade spectators.  It was fabulous.

I never cried after that.  People can bag on pageants all they want but that pageant gave me something to feel good about.  I wasn't all dolled up like an adult's baby doll.  I looked like a little girl playing dress up. I went on to lose the county pageant, which didn't feel so great but I made to second grade a happy kid and that was just fine with me.

Passion

So, I've searched long and hard in these 25 years of my existence to find something I am truly passionate about.  I've always wanted to do something with my life that I absolutely love but the world doesn't exactly serve that dish on a silver platter.  Well, maybe for the Kardashians, but not this lower end of middle class girl.  My boyfriend does something he absolutely loves.  He is so passionate about it.  I'd say what it is exactly but it might give me away.  :) Me, on the other hand, struggling to keep up with the exciting world of, you guessed it, insurance.  I love the stock market, where I started my career,  but somehow after banking, I ended up in the page turning world of insurance.

Anyway, to get back on topic, (I'll stray away quite often, I'm sure) the South is something I'm truly in love with.  I was born there and lived there from the time I was 6 until 9 years old.  Definitely not long enough.  Although it is not utopia, it is very close in my mind.  The food, the hospitality, the rich culture, everything about it I love.  Well, not everything, I guess.  There are some things not to love but I will discuss those things later.

My passion for the South is something most people know about me, if they really know me.  I will share it with you here.