It’s a Southern Thing

It’s a Southern Thing.----------
Southerners have a thing about names – nick names and double names. I know that I myself have been called Buddy, Bob, Robert, R.C., and those are only the ones fit for publication. As I think back about our high school we had Skull, Bones, Hard Dog, Bull Dog, Mad Dog, Butch, Buddy, Hound Dog, Monk, Buck, Wish, Pappy, Lecil Diesel, Snookie, Little Bit, Bullhead, Tea Pot, Crip, Wild Bill, Cuck, Boon and a whole host of ones I either cannot remember or am unwilling to commit to print. It was a mark of being an “alright guy” to be called by a nick name and we all fell in line with the expectations of a small town.
We also had Emily Sue, George Lloyd, Charlie Bob, Betty Ann, Betty Jo, Betty Jean, Mary Bell, Mary Ann, Mary Lou, Mary Sue, Velma Jo, Jessie Mai, Martha Ann, Erma Jean and on and on like a whose who of small Southern town debutants.
We spent our afternoons at the Dairy Freeze, our nights at the skating rink under the big tent, and our summers at the swimming pool – or in my case on the farm. A party was when some girl had a group over to play the latest 45 RPM records. The boys (who did not dance) watched while the girls “Bopped” with one another to “Peggy Sue” or “Run Around Sue” or some other record, generally centered around a girl’s name.
Sunday afternoons were spent “riding around” in whoever was lucky enough to get the family station wagon, or have their own jalopy.
“Wha’da’ya wanna do?”
“I don know, wha’da’you wanna do?”
“I don know”
The only thing we knew for sure was we did not want to go home where parental questioning and homework awaited. So, five hours later –
“Well, wha’da’ya wanna do?”
“I don know, time for me to go’ta church”
“see ya”
Or perhaps we would go to the Dairy Queen and see if any girls were “riding around,” if so we could perhaps make some swaps and end up “riding around” with girls instead of just each other. That sounded like a much better plan, but was seldom fully executed since all of the girls old enough to go to the Dairy Queen or be “riding around,” soon were snapped up by older guys who were “riding around” in much nicer cars.
Occasionally we actually left town and went “riding around” in Lebanon or Hartsville, which was a risky pastime since the local boys were defending their turf and had home court advantage anyway. Sometime it resulted in an invitation by one or more of the other town’s football team to leave under your own steam or take the consequences. Don’t know what the consequences were, since my buddies and I always left without taking the time to find out the alternative.
Less frequently, we ended up doing something really dumb like climbing the old metal water tank with CARTHAGE painted in black letters, and tossing pebbles down on Mr. Mack’s roof just to see him run out and look in all directions but up.
Yeah, Sundays were slow and names were important and to some extent small southern towns are still like they were 50 years ago. Names are still important and Sundays are still slow. We still think it is important to wear the name Christian and we Slow Down long enough to stop and assemble with others to worship God. Don’t you wish everywhere was still like this?

Have a blessed day, Bob