One day I had an old lady, who was once the mayor’s wife, tell me that I turned out ‘pretty good’ considering I was ‘out of white trash.’
I think that I was rendered speechless, it’s not that my family couldn’t fairly be termed ‘white trash’ by her standards, but it was more the extreme breach of southern etiquette of her uttering this backhand complement in her living room out loud in front of my wife and friends.
As we all tried to pretend the old hag hadn’t just said that, I thought back to when she was my cub scout den mother. I often played with her son because we were the same age, did she always think of me as ‘out of white trash?’
The ‘out of’ part was the strangest, we often used that phraseology in relation to farm animals, as in ‘that dog over yonder, she’s out of old bessie the best dang coon dog ever. We hope she hunts as well.’
I guess I was never more than a thing of pity or something sub human.
On the way home that night i thought of all I had done in my life, college, the navy, three children a good job and I thought that I can accept the complement even one that mean spirited.
©The Autobiography of Mr. Perfect, 2011, written entirely on my iPhone.