Drive South

I was driving down the interstate, brainstorming my next blog post, when suddenly inspiration hit my windshield like...well, a beer can.

In a few minutes, my leisurely drive had turned into a game of dodge the Budweiser, as aluminum projectiles came flying at my windshield from the bed of the pickup in front of me. Road tripping, southern style.

Pickups can tell you a lot about what part of the south you're in...the color of the dirt on the tires, the number of NRA friendly bumper stickers, the species of dead animal in the bed...Mostly though, they are a very expensive advertising platform for the favorite SEC team. If a truck isn't proclaiming the college loyalties of the driver in foot long letters, you're definitely not in Alabama (if it's not American made, you might not even be in the South).

Somewhere around the intersection of Hank Williams Parkway and Alan Jackson Boulevard (and no, not everything is named after country music stars...only the things that haven't been named for Bobby Jones already), the billboards start.

A popular formula is mixing guns and religion, like "God Created Man. Sam Colt Made Him Equal." or "Cain Killed Abel With A Rock. It's a Heart Problem, Not A Gun Problem." (follow the scripture verse for biblical confirmation)

Or guns and politics: "Vote. Win A Rifle." (Somehow I think that did more to draw in voters than the "I am a Georgia Voter" sticker that attempted to look like a peach, but really just came off looking like a baby's buttocks).

Heck, even guns and romance. What man won't buy his honey a diamond at D. Geller and Son when he can get a free hunting rifle out of it?

http://www.fieldandstream.com/files/photo/62609/riflesign.jpg

Some, of course don't have anything to do with guns:  

"See Bud and Jean to Get your Bee Traps So They Don't Eat Up Your Rockin' Chairs." (Bud and Jean sound pretty vicious. Better buy their bee traps if you don't want them eating your porch furniture).

From the side of the road in letters 5 feet high comes the question, "Heaven or Hell: Where Are You Going?" At this point, my GPS has usually deserted me for greener pastures with cell phone reception, and I'm asking the same question, except hoping the answer is Birmingham.

Not to take it lightly, because as another sign reminds me, "Hell is Real." After driving through the panhandle in the middle of August, I don't see how anybody could doubt it.

"Got Salvation?" If you don't, there's a toll free number you can call to get it. Or just stop at any local gas station and pick up the bestseller of your favorite televangelist.

You can get salvation, fried chicken, tobacco, and a bottle opener that plays Dixie all in this one convenient place. One station somewhere in Alabama even has a complimentary washer and dryer for its customers...Southern hospitality at its finest.

Of course, it isn't always guaranteed that you'll get gas at one of these stations.

On a recent trip, I put 4 gallons into my tank when the pump stopped.

The cashier sighed when I walked up to the register. "I expect it's done run out again. Third time this week."

With the exception of a rusty pickup by the pumps (which, judging from the weeds growing through the floorboards, was not responsible for the run on the gas supply) there was no car in sight. Either I had just missed an exodus of vehicles, or they only kept enough fuel to fill up their clientele of two cars and a John Deere per week and I was pushing the quota.

Still, what's gas? You can spare the time to stop every 20 miles to pump yourself another gallon or so (especially if the boiled peanut supply holds out). In the words of a highway patrolman, whom I happened to have a ...ahem... casual conversation with, "This here ain't Pennsylvania, ma'am. Down South, we take things a little slower."

Feeling the Brotherly Love

Below the Mason Dixon line is weighing a little heavy on me these days...particularly yesterday. What Philly girl could be happy in the ATL while the Fightin' Phils were tramping the turf at Citizens Bank?

So in the spirit of nostalgia, I'm going toss back a Yuengling (pronounced Yuengling) - actually, let's be real: it's a tall glass of water (pronounced water), because it's a school night - and recall a few stories from my inner city Philly teaching days.




*Spontaneous photos published with permission, and sarcastic commentary, of the photographer.

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As we walked to lunch I tried to hustle along the laggards.

"Come on, Julian. All the ice cream will be gone," I threatened.

"Shhh...," he was bent down over a big fat bee on the sidewalk, "I'm doing science, Miss Em."

Smash! A wail rose from Julian as LaTasha wiped her shoe on the curb. "And now science is dead, foo'. I killed it."

Can't blame a girl for loving her some ice cream.

______________

One day, they had to come up with a skit to highlight the effects of poor life decisions. The subject was up to them. Considering the spectrum of evil and immorality that they had been exposed to in their short lives, I was prepared for anything.

The scene is a street corner. A gang of toughs approach a boy reading on the ground.

Tyriq: "Hey bro, if you want to be cool you should smoke." Offers cigarette.

Deondre: "Okay." Deondre takes a drag off the cigarette and starts coughing and shaking violently. His steps falter and he collapses on the ground.

Narrator: "Deondre was rushed to the hospital where he was nursed back to life by his gramma. He promised never to smoke again and got healthy."

...I didn't think it was necessary to explain to them that smoking didn't have quite such serious effects. The important thing was that they recognized there were bad consequences for poor decisions, and that it was possible to turn things around even after you had made a poor decision. But then came the epilogue.

Narrator: "A few days later, Deondre broke his promise and started smoking again. In a week, he was dead."

Okay. Maybe it should be addressed.

_____________

On the way to the Dean's office with Trey for the fourth time that week, I had a talk with him about his life decisions.

"If you don't do well in school, how are you going to go to college?"

"Oh, don't you worry about that, Miss Em. I only gotta make it to Junior year of high school."

"Why Junior year?"

"NBA draft."

"So what if that doesn't work out for you?"

He explained patiently, "I'll just wait for the NFL."

Oh. Natch.

_______________

The kids had moved on from life decisions to teamwork. They played a game where they had to link their arms and their legs, and walk about 30 feet together without breaking their chain. Tyrell had the idea to have every other person stand on the feet of their neighbors. Robert was sulking because his idea to have everyone simply jump the distance had been laughed down.

"Take off them shoes, Robert."

A storm of wrath erupted from Robert. "Why would I do that, you biscuit? I got on brand new socks, yo! You think these things grow on trees?!"

"Robert, is that the way you talk to Tyrell?"

He turned to me and a grin lit up his face. "Oh don't you worry about ole Ty, Miss Em. Ty is my biscuit. I'm just messin' wit 'em."

"So is a biscuit a good thing or a bad thing?"

The last of the sulk was wiped away as Robert burst into laughter. "Lady don't know what a biscuit is!? You eat it for breakfast."

Was I missing something? Somebody needed to teach this kid how to form a definition.

"All right, so calling somebody a biscuit means...I'm still confused."

He laughed again. "Paris, get yo'self over here and tell the lady what a biscuit is."

"Don't know about biscuits?"

Great. Now D'Azia was in on the action.

"Hush up, girl. I'm gonna lay some knowledge on Miss Em. A biscuit...laughter...well you eat it for breakfast."

Yes. That fact was fully established.

"And it's big and flaky. So when some boo acts real dumb, you call 'em a biscuit. Cuz they head is like a biscuit.

Now, Robert here, he's my biscuit. But like my home slice. My hot sizzle biscuit. See how they different?

Oh, yeah. That definitely cleared it up for me.

______________

Teamwork was the theme that week. To demonstrate, Darcy showed off her juggling skills, explaining how each ball had to be in the right place at the right time to accomplish the goal.

A bit of a stretch if you asked me. But hey, the girl could juggle. Not gonna hate.

She put the balls on the table behind her and began to talk. Luigi reached for them and she gently scolded him. "We're all finished with those, Luigi. It's time to listen now."

She began a long talk about teamwork. What had they learned about accomplishing goals when everyone worked together?

"Can I hold them things, Miss Darcy?"

"Those things, Alexis. And no. It's time to listen." Still gentle, but with a slight edge.

How did working as a team make them feel?

"Miss D. maybe we could just take turns touching 'em."

"We are done with them, Alicia. Please listen." No gentleness now.

Were they closer as individuals because they had to work as a team?

"I still hate Jamal."

"Reisha! That's not a nice thing to say about your teammate. Can you think of something positive to say about Jamal?"

"I liked that he stuffed hisself like a pig yesterday and couldn't come to class cuz he was so sick."

Darcy was reaching the snapping point. At that moment, there was a soft plop! and thirty eyes turned to Brandon, sitting across from Darcy, one of the juggling ball at his feet.

"How did you get that?" Darcy's voice was steely.

"Well, I guess we just passed 'em right on down." Brandon smiled winningly. "Teamwork!"