"Our Daddy's Taught Us to Reload"

If you have never held a rifle pointed into a cloudless sky and yelled "pull," chances are, you were not born in the South. By the time I was twelve, I had learned to lead the sight on a rifle the length of a loaf of bread when partaking in the hobby know as skeet shooting. With the gun against my shoulder and the barrel of the rifle sight staying ahead of the clay pigeon, I pulled the trigger. And BAM! It was blown to smithereens. This is known as skeet shooting. (No birds or other animals are involved.) 

Our Daddy's taught us to reload. We were taught to respect, not fear, guns. When I grew up, my father and uncle owned a gun club. They held competitions for skeet shooting throughout the year. This is where I learned how to handle a rifle and shoot skeet.

The the most memorable event was a men's only, once a year event hosted by the two of them. It was by invitation only with all the free beer, calf fries, and French fries the men could eat. Serious and just for fun shooting competitions were held. Each year, it lasted into the wee hours of the morning. In this world, securing an invitation was like getting a table at the Oscars. Most of all, it was for bragging rights and provided a year full of stories and good times to be told and remembered.

The young girls in our community learned early how to handle, reload and shoot rifles and handguns. Of course, all this was done in full make-up with a smile on our faces.  Hair coiffed and done up because, after skeet shooting, the girls would load up in the new Cadillac to go shopping at Smith's department store in the "city."  That was the way of women in the South when I grew up. And it was wonderful.

The hazards of smoking are now well known, but when I was growing up it was acceptable and trendy. I mean, have you ever seen smoke flowing from a woman's nostrils as she looks down her nose at another person? It is a sight to behold! One you will not forget. A grown man could be reduced to a puddle on the floor. 

Rich, poor or in between, there is a southern pride in men, women and children born and raised in the deep South. If you were not raised here, it could be challenging to understand. With a cup of Folger's coffee and a Salem cigarette in a crystal ashtray, the problems of the day floated away with the plume of smoke.  

The lip print and color of red lipstick on the cigarette butt was as incriminating as a fingerprint. Not all southern ladies smoked, but they did wear make-up and lipstick. Whether they were the "old sisters" my Dad had to dance with (previous blog) or had a day of hard labor ahead of them, they were put together. Ready to meet the day head-on like the steel magnolias we were raised to be.

The meanest thing I ever heard my grandmother say about another woman was, "Oh, Honey, she doesn't primp." She made a face like she had seen or smelled something very offensive. A woman's station in life did not matter when it came to whether she was presentable in the community. Or whether she was accepted. One of my earliest memories is that a pencil skirt, Hanes hosiery, and a pair of high heel alligator shoes would take you places few dared to dream.

Our Daddy's taught us to reload and our mothers and grandmothers taught us to cook. If you have never had a homecooked meal from a southern kitchen...Well, you have missed one of nature's most authentic pleasures. Now, don't get the idea you can come into a southern woman's kitchen and ask for a recipe. Or how long it takes to cook something. You will not get a clear answer because there isn't one. It is a pinch of this and a pinch of that. It all depends on the tastes and smells bubbling up from the pots on the stove and in the oven.  

There is a hypnotic grace in the deep South, one that cannot be duplicated. Even Hollywood is unsuccessful in its attempt to recreate a southern accent in actors who were not born here.

We are unique. So are you.

Ladies, if you are ever down this way, get ready for a good time!

No one will care if you whoop and holler and throw your hat in the air.

That is...if you have your lipstick on, your hair is done, and you carry yourself with pride.

With a Wink, A Smile, and One More "Pull!"

                                                      And Bam!

                                                      Jinger