I had to endure recently the psychotic ramblings of a colleague who suggested that my native state Flawda is not the South. Had I not respected him, I would have stabbed him in the heart with a pencil.
I mean it’s impossible to gauge or categorize the degree of insanity of that statement. But I give it a try herein. Flawda can be in parts the redneckest place you’ve ever visited. Two Egg, Cadillac, Wacahoota, Sopchoppy, Switzerland, Micanopy, Thonotosassa, Christmas. Ask anybody in the know what and where Chattahoochee is. They’ll know.
Let me tell you, boy, as a second generation son of Flawda, I’m proud of its culture and history and its rightful place in Southern status. And when it comes to corn pone and bucolic, the good ol’ boy, the rusticator and goat roaper, the shite kicker and Billy Bob — all will enjoy a commonality there seen no where else. I proudly accept the appellation of cracker. Note as well the broader message contained herein: If only we bothered to understand what our neighbor is and thinks. Then we’d affirm in our own minds our superiority and correctness.