I was at the annual reunion of my mother’s family today. Any Sunday afternoon in the South, when you drive by a church fellowship hall or community clubhouse and you see cars in the parking lot, you can almost take it to the bank that a family reunion is going on. Just stop on in. The chances are really good that you’ll be welcomed and well-fed. There aren’t any strangers around here, just friends we haven’t met yet.
I see that note going around Facebook all the time, that you’re proud to be from the South where the tea is sweet, the people still say yes ma’am, no ma’am, thank you very much, and y’all come back. That’s where I come from.
I am proud of where I came from, and I think it has had a big influence on my life, and my work ethic. My mother was raised in dirt-poor Appalachian poverty. Her parents were sharecropping farmers, and the nicest and most generous people I ever met. If they were down to their last two biscuits, they’d give you one. They worked from sunup to sundown. They didn’t have anything, but they were rich in spirit. I think it’s a testimony that when my grandpa died, over 1300 people signed the guest book at his funeral. Imagine that…1300 people coming to mourn a sharecropping farmer. READ MORE…
