I grew up with two wonderful sets of grandparents. I am extremely fortunate to have known all four of them, plus two great-grandparents. My Nana (mom’s mom) is still alive and well and is as wonderful and feisty as ever.
Dad’s parents were from Arkansas. They grew up picking cotton. My grandpa used to tell us about his haunted barn back on the homestead and how he found grandma naked in the mud and felt sorry for her and married her. We enjoyed biscuits and gravy and country ham and fried chicken and all sorts of delicious down-home, home-cooked food at their house. Grandpa chewed plug tobacco which he spit out of the window of his truck (which left streaks down the window and door) and he used Eagle’s Brand instead of milk in his coffee, which he spooned into his saucer to cool.
Grandma & Grandpa spoke with a wonderful southern drawl which some people tell me I have. When I lived in the Pacific Northwest, I would often get asked if I was from the south, to which I replied “southern California.”
But I digress.
The reason for this important bulletin is a post I recently read over on Rocks in My Dryer:. Shannon describes herself as a 30-something stay-at-home mom to four kids who loves “semi-colons with a deep, deep passion.”
An Open Letter To Yankees Regarding Use of the Word “Y’all” nearly caused me to nearly pee my pants, so I thought I would share it with you today:
Dear Northern People (and yes, we really do call you “Yankees” behind your back, but we mean it in the nicest way possible),
It would appear that many of you are beginning to desire to add the word “y’all” to your vocabulary. I do not blame you. It is an excellent word, rich in culture, and full of practical application. And we Southerners are gracious (MY STARS, we are gracious). We will share this word with you happily, because we feel should not be discriminated against just because you did not have the good sense to be born in God’s Country.
Read the rest of the post HERE.