Today I was flipping through the radio and I got to hear the song “Islands in the Stream.” I am willing to bet that had Alex been in the car with me he would have claimed to have never heard it. Earlier in our marriage I would have called him a liar, but now I can face the truth.
The truth that he likes his cornbread to be sweet. He could not name a Ray Stevens song or character from Designing Women. Recently I learned that he had never heard of Lewis Grizzard. He hates Dukes Mayonnaise. He could not name one pitcher on the Braves’ starting rotation in the whole decade of the 1990s. He thinks he could drive in the snow if he got the chance. He doesn’t understand the concept of buttermilk.
While I do feel conflicted about certain unpleasantness involved with being from the South—things like the Civil War and stock car racing—I am so grateful I had the opportunity to be raised in a family that exemplified all my favorite things about it, all of it that is good and gracious and old timey and ideal to me.
UPDATE: When Alex got home from work this morning and read this he said he had never heard the song! I knew it. He also said it sounds like “Ghetto Superstar.” (-What- has the world come to? WHAT??) He did manage to name Greg Maddux.
