Wednesday, Apr. 27, 2005 | ||
Bad Links? | Rednecks, good ol boys are not the same
By RONDA RICH An e-mail arrived the other day from a sophisticated Yankee who needed advice. I came South and fell in love with a redneck. Please tell me how to win his heart, she wrote. I needed clarification. Im always suspicious when Yankees talk about rednecks because theyre bad to clump all Southerners into that category. Is he a redneck or is he a good ol boy? I asked in a reply e-mail. Theres a difference. Further investigation revealed he was, instead, a good ol boy. That established, I had plenty of advice. So, heres some wisdom about good ol boys that every woman should know, particularly the young ones who should learn it now rather than find out the hard way: Good ol boys love their mamas. They are always in search of a woman just like her. Their mamas are also in search of a woman just like themselves but the sons are more likely to find her than the mamas are. It is okay to come between him and his mama, though both will protest mightily. If it becomes too much of fight, quote the scripture, A man should leave his mother and cleave only to his wife. Throwing scripture at a Southern woman is akin to throwing kryptonite at Superman. She melts to a puddle of non-resistance. While it is permissible, even advisable, to come between a good ol boy and his mama, there are things from which you must never separate him: his pick-up truck, his recliner or his television and its remote. I once knew a recliner, old and ugly as homemade sin as the old folks say, that became the major bargaining chip in a divorce. It worked. She got the new double-wide and he got the ugly recliner. Good ol boys are serious about their trucks. They use them to haul many things home including recliners and television sets. Most of my girlfriends are married to good ol boys but none more than Debbie. Her husband Mike is the best of his kind, the kind that fights for those he loves and allows nothing to come between him and what he loves. Like his pick-up truck. When some idiot tried to steal his truck, he met more than his match. From a sound slumber, Mike awoke to hear the sound of his adored truck rolling over crunching gravel down the long driveway. He leapt from his bed, grabbed his clothes and took off after the stupid bandit who, obviously, hadnt done his pre-theft homework. Apparently, the thief didnt know that Mike is a multi-crowned racing champion who is fearless in a race car, calm under pressure and who, once, beat Dale Earnhardt in a one-on-one match-up. The thief also didnt know of Mikes devotion to shoot-em-up Westerns. But he soon learned. Mike jumped in Debbies SUV and for the next several minutes chased the idiot at high speed down red dirt back roads, jumping gullies and barely missing trees in the pitch black night. Driving with his right hand, Mike used his left hand to shoot at the guy who was surely beginning to regret his stupidity. You shot at your own pick-up? I asked incredulously. Yep. It was my truck. Nobodys gittin my truck. And so no one did. The hapless bandit finally had the sense to stop, jump out and run. Mike didnt get the stealing scoundrel but got his truck back, bullet holes and all. And thats what counts. Peoplell say, Whats them dents in your tailgate, Mike explains. I tell em, That aint dents. Thems bullet holes. Which, of course, then gives Mike something else that Southern good ol boys love as much as pick-up trucks, recliners and television sets: a good story to tell. |
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