Dearest Southern Daddy
I have never had to live up north. By the Grace of God and choice, I have always lived on the right side of the Mason-Dixie Line. I am sure there are some great people who live up north but I haven’t had the honor of meeting either of them.
Just kidding. I know some who were raised in Alabama and had to move up north for their job. They are counting the days until retirement. My question to them: “How many people do you know who retire and dream of moving to the Bronx?”
This is strictly from a Southern perspective. GRITS (Girls Raised In The South) remember their first and usually their last love of a man and for a man: their Daddy. Not Father, but DADDY. A few have even been known to say “Diddy” but either way, it is the man of the house growing up.
Southern Girls love their Mommas. They adore and idolize their Dads. These men taught their little girls how to spit peach seeds, use a duck call and how to mend broken hearts when they got turned down at the Sadie Hawkins dance. Homemade ice cream and a quick reminder: “Bubba Clyde just don’t know what he is missing. One day, he will regret his decision.”
That cured everything.
Who do you think taught her how to burp the chorus of Dixieland Delight or how to properly shoot a .20 gauge at her first dove shoot in September, right after her 9th birthday? Every Southern Gal will credit her Daddy with learning how to change a flat tire and the complexities of the infield fly rule.
Each fall, daughters pack up and head to college. I never had girls to send off to school. It’s different with boys. Big, tough, masculine Dads have been known to fill up a full-sized handkerchief when their little girl hugs him on the front steps of the sorority house and mumbles: “I’m gonna miss you, Daddy. More than anyone.”
Somehow or other, Big Daddy blubbers the first thing that comes to mind: “Just remember everything that I taught you and don’t be falling for some tree- hugging liberal.”
As she gets settled in her new dorm room, Dad is driving back home, struggling to see through wet eyes and a lump in his throat that Roto-Rooter couldn’t displace. In true role reversal, Mom was the one expected to be emotional about “empty-nesting.”
Mom says: “Let’s stop at the first Mexican joint that we can find and celebrate with a top-shelf margarita after a shot of Cuervo. Are YOU crying? She is only 2 hours away. YOU were the one saying that our baby girl would be fine and here you are slobbering and squalling like Tammy Faye Bakker. Didn’t you tell her there was no crying in baseball?”
He lies: “It’s just my allergies and these new contacts. I know she will be fine.”
Sissy thinks of the important lessons that she learned from him during the previous 18 years. Daddy loved to make jokes about comparing northern women with Southern Belles.
Some examples:
Up north on autumn Saturdays, northern girls head to the library to study the Pythagorean theorem. They will later meet up with Wilberforce IV, to drink latte and debate the musical significance between Bach and Brahms. (Weren’t they quarterbacks for Princeton?)
Southern women spend more time picking out their outfit for the opening football game than they will spend picking out their wedding gown. It has to do with priorities. Most wedding gowns look about the same. They will engage in the age- old Southern sorority tradition: “I just hope one of the Sigma Chi’s says Yes to the Dress.”
In Tuscaloosa, she will be first in line at Gallette’s on Saturday morning to sample a Yellow Hammer that her Dad warned her about. Two of these and she will be singing the X-rated version of “Dixieland Delight” for everyone to enjoy. At the game, Sissy will be telling the entire student section what she learned from her Dad: “Look for the strong safety creeping up and playing inside of the Y receiver. Watch the Mike linebacker to see if he taps his helmet. This is a signal to blitz through the C-gap.”
Her Dad said that many northern girls have weddings on Saturdays in the fall. He tells Sissy that she can do the same thing. Just don’t expect him to be there and her inheritance will be split between the University athletic department and its NIL collective. He also asks her an important question: what male member of your family do you think would walk you down the aisle on a Saturday in the fall?
I guess they could call “Rent-A-Dad.”
She still remembers his advice about the best type of birth control which simply involves a dime. Just a dime. She laughs out loud telling her friends the punch line: “just put it between your knees and keep it there.”
It doesn’t take long for all of her new Sisters at college to tell her that she is the Sister that they really never had.
She closes her eyes and thanks her Daddy for that.
Daddy is back home, clearing his memory cobwebs, knowing that she is grown-up now. He tricked her and pulled her first tooth as she bit into a “Magic Apple.” He let her have a sip of his “cough medicine” once when her Mom was shopping. That has remained their secret to this day.
He stares at her old softball glove. She followed him around in the garden and yard, begging him to teach her how to throw a rise-ball. It’s hard to believe that she played the game with passion and loved it. Why? Because of her Daddy’s smile and words of encouragement.
Wonder if she will ever want to go out in the backyard and play “pitch” when she gets home from college? Probably not. She will be too busy and too grown-up.
One day, she will bring that special guy home from college to meet her family. Special Guy will hug her Mom, Grandmother and all the cousins. When it comes to meeting her Dad, he gets choked up:
“It is a true honor to meet you Sir. You are ALL that she ever talks about.”
Dad smiles from ear to ear as his Baby Girl hugs him so hard it almost crushes his ribs.
She whispers: “I have missed you Daddy. More than anybody. She opens her hand and shows him her special dime. Get your glove and let’s go out back and toss the ball around.”
There go those allergies again.