Bob Thomas Writes

I occasionally have my writing published on www.deadmule.com and they require their writers to ‘prove’ their Southern Heritage. Here’s my proof. . .

Southern Heritage Statement

Bob Thomas

I’ve spent, summer afternoons plucking honeysuckle blossoms and sucking the sugary sweet nectar from them.

I’ve gnawed Louisiana sugar cane until the last drop of sugar ran down my chin.

I’ve patiently licked all of the honey out of a honeycomb, and chewed the wax like gum.

I’ve eaten ginger bread with lemon sauce. I’ve eaten Pralines, beignets, home made hand cranked ice cream, bread pudding, rice pudding, lemon pie, key lime pie, pineapple upside down cake, pecan pie, watermelons by the ton, cantaloupe, persimmons, figs, strawberries, Muscatine’s, fresh picked South Carolina and Georgia peaches and Florida oranges. . . all before 1953 when I was 10 years old.

I’ve eaten pork barbeque, barbequed chicken, fried chicken, pork chops, chitlins, pigs feet, chicken necks, collards, sweet potatoes, fresh, uncooked corn off the stalk, tomatoes while they were still on the plant, fried green tomatoes, fried dill pickles, raw string beans, grits and red eye gravy. I’ve eaten boiled shrimp ‘till I couldn’t possibly hold anymore. I’ve sat on the dock and eaten clams, scallops and oysters. I’ve had sea-urchin, shark, alligator, crawfish, snake and a nice fat ‘fried’ grasshopper or two. I drank an entire 10 oz. cup of hot Krispy Kreme icing on a bet. And since I lived inNew Orleansand worked inSouth Louisianafor a while, I’ve eaten some really weird stuff too! Cajuns are the only people who occasionally have a Thanksgiving turkey with four legs!

I’ve eaten at the table, on the ground, at a work bench, in school, in church, in the car, on a tailgate, at NASCAR races, dirt track races, drag races and street races.

I’ve been arrested, almost arrested and not quite arrested. I’ve gotten a speeding ticket for driving 121 mph inMississippi, 89 mph inLouisiana, 78 mph inNorth Carolina, and “too fast’ on the Myrtle Beach Strand without a license.

I’ve enjoyed the relaxing effects of Jim Beam, Jack Daniels, Four Roses, moonshine and ‘Purple Jesus’. I’ve gotten drunk in theSmokeyMountainsofNorth Carolina, passed out and woke up atMyrtle Beach,SC– where I danced to beach music until someone took me home.    

I have been blessed by the laughter and caress of Southern women – both the ones who are beautiful by bar-light and daylight and ones that are just plain ugly in any light – all with hearts of gold.

I broke horses (2) for King Ranch inTexasin return for a plate full of pit cooked beef barbeque, beans, cornbread and a six pack and some aspirin.

I know when to say “Yes Ma’am”, “Yes Sir” and “Thank you”. I open doors for ladies – and men – of any age. Even if they have a nose ring.

I never swear in the presence of people I don’t know, and I temper my language around women. I have no problem reciting a string of profanity if it’s appropriate to get my point across.

I have friends that will be friends forever and I’ll do anything for them – even if I never see them again. I have relatives that I love to death, brag about and never see enough of.

I believe in God – my God, not necessarily yours. I don’t care who your God is.

I stand and place my hand on my heart for the pledge of allegiance or the passing of the flag – I carried a gun, wore the uniform and served my country in the military for it, it’s mine. If you don’t stand; I won’t say a word to you. But I will think less of you.

I pray when the urge hits me. I can’t imagine my government making me stop.

My parents taught me that to get respect, I had to give respect. It’s not that hard to understand. I respected, love and feared my parents when it was appropriate, and I thank them for the life they gave me. Everyday I try to make them proud of me.

I believe that God created the South on the sixth day, and decided to stop while he was ahead and take the next day off.

These are all things I’ve done and learned in the South, or because I was raised in the South. I’ve never been anywhere else that “raised up” their children this way. And I’ve never heard anybody speak more proudly of their geographic heritage than a Southerner. You’ve never heard anyone say, “I’ve from the North”, with a verbal swagger in his voice like a Southerner.

So, my Southern heritage is not something I can write down on a piece of paper. If you know me, talk to me or read some of my writing, it will be evident to you that I am not, and could not possibly be from anywhere else in the world.

Bob Thomas

Kinston,NC