Confessions

Jeff Foxworthy has made the equivalent of the GDP of a small nation poking fun at “rednecks.” He describes a redneck as one who has an uninhibited lack of sophistication (or something to that effect). Don Burleson  describes a true redneck as one who “does not feel the need to impress people with the outward trappings of superficial wealth and a real Redneck is perfectly comfortable in an Armani suit or a stained t-shirt.”


Now, I don’t know if I am a real redneck or if I am just passing. It is true that my father’s father was born in West Virginia and my mother’s parents were both born in Kentucky. Perhaps my fascination for Wal-Mart reveals some repressed issues about my heritage. However, I am sharing these vignettes about my family, perhaps as a way of dealing with the past; perhaps as a way of facing my personal demons. So, this will be my attempt at a serial. I will post these confessions over the next few days as my own personal catharsis.

Note: unlike other things that may have appeared on this blog, these are all actually true stories. Ask my sister, she’ll tell you…

Also note: I had my wife read this and she said, with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm, “Yeah, it’s funny.” I was hoping for more but, as she reminded me, she has heard all of this before.

Grandma:

My grandmother dipped snuff. Not so uncommon, but she had a special brand that was available only in Kentucky (or at least not available in Ohio where we lived) and they came in tumblers that she used later as beverage glasses. I think it was called Broughton’s. Every time some family member visited Kentucky, grandma had them bring back several cases.

Grandma made the best sweet tea. Maybe it was the hint of Broughton’s in the glasses.

We had a special spit-jar for grandma to use when she visited us (I realize that “spit-jar” is much too indelicate. If the term offends you, please substitute “expectoration receptacle”).In case of emergencies she carried a prescription bottle (secondary expectoration receptacle) in her purse that could be used in more discreet situations. The SER was used in the car on the way to church, and I swear she used it during the sermon.

Grandma never cussed. She was a God-fearing woman. Instead, one of her favorite expression was “I’ll Suwannee.” Now, I have no idea what this means. I know there is a Sewanee Tennessee, but I have no information that would shed light on its expletive value. It was fun hearing grandma when she was perplexed utter a confused, “Well I’ll Suwannee!”

As I said, grandma never cussed. She was, however, very proficient in French. I know this because each time she would utter a word that I had never heard before, she would say, “Pardon my French.” My mother likewise became quite good at French. When, however, I began to pick up some French words, I was introduced to subtle nuances of Ivory Soap on the back of the palette.

Grandma’s sisters (my mom’s aunts) also dipped snuff. They lived in Kentucky and only came to Ohio for brief visits. There were 3 that I knew well – Georgia (pronounced Georgie), Beatrice (pronounced Beat) and Ivy. Of the 3, Aunt Ivy was an artist with her chew. She could hold a dip of snuff in her mouth and eat at the same time. I was made painfully aware of this talent when we visited them one summer and I was positioned across the table from her at dinner. That image is seared into my brain and still makes me queasy.