It occurred to me the other day that my son was going to grow up as a Southerner.
There’s nothing wrong with this. It might mean that he wants to drive a pick up truck, or go hunting with his Dad (ehh) or wear sunglasses on Croakies and pink seersucker shorts to football games. I’m okay with all that.
Because it also means he’s going to say things like “yes ma’am” without the slightest hint of sarcasm, and he’ll hold doors open for his girlfriends, and he’ll intercept women putting their shopping buggies away to do it for them. He’ll do all these things because he’ll grow up seeing his Daddy do them and he’ll just know that those are the right things to do.
And the first person he can practice his Southern hospitality good manner habits on?
His momma, of course.