I am not talking about this type of redneck.
What I am referring to as redneck might just simply be called being a boy. I don't know. I'm a girl and it just might be that my girlness and girl parts is why I don't "get" the being a boy thing. I must admit that I find some of this boyness quite distasteful and would rather my son not like such things.
Well, I have long noticed that almost all boys I know, I mean men--wait, really, is there a difference?-- all seem to get this fire in their eyes when the subjects of NASCAR, guns, hunting, fishing, farm equipment, trucks, ATV's, boats, knives, etc come up. Even some men who I would think wouldn't like that stuff get all excited when one of those subjects come up. I always feel sidelined by it. Like, wait, I thought you were my friend, not one of those that like all that, that boy stuff.
Yes, and I do know many girls who like some of those things too.
They are also rednecks.
And since my husband loves all of those things it has been an uphill battle trying to save my son from being a complete redneck. I mean, we live in Georgia. Sure it is metro Atlanta but the force is extra strong here cause it is still the South. It is encouraged here. Almost required I think to get your balls if you are a guy. I've only seen a handful of men escape it. They don't live here anymore.
The other day though Beau said something that made me think there just might still be hope for him. The teeniest of glimmers. Blink and you missed it glimmers.
Let me set it up for you.
Beau use to call it "reindeer shooting."
As in; "My Daddy? My Daddy kills reindeer." Or, "My Daddy is reindeer shooting this weekend."
He would say this at speech and his speech teacher, once she got over the horror that a 3 year old talks about killing reindeer, she would tell me that it was very impressive that Beau got the "d" sound in all the correct spots in the sentence. How's that for professionalism?
And she was right. It was impressive because that was back when Beau most often omitted the "d" sound. Three cheers for Beau!
And last year, when he was in preK (thank God he didn't do this at his Baptist preschool he attended at ages 2 and 3) he spent a lot of time talking about how "his Daddy? His Daddy was a hunter and he killed deer. It was cool."
As embarrassing as it was to have Beau flaunting and spreading the redneck disease at school it did cause some extra problems. Apparently one little boy, a soft animal loving little boy, would cry when Beau would talk about "shooting deer". Then Beau and the little boy would get into a heated debated about the virtues of killing deer versus not killing deer (they are cute and have pretty brown eyes the little boy would argue) and both boys would get time outs. Sigh.
You know. There were only so many battles I could pick to fight with Beau.
And anyone who knows me knows that I am NOT, at all, supportive of the killing of deer. Not because I have a particular soft spot for deer (they are pretty but they can be a menace) but because I do not like deer meat, I do not want stuffed deer head trophies in house and, most importantly, because I am hunting widow from October until December which infringes on prime time marathon racing season. Pisses me off every year. I also do not, at all, see the point of sitting in a tree for endless hours, having to be quiet and waiting for unsuspecting deer to trot along. I don't get the sport of it at all. Just seems like a HUGE waste of time to me. And don't even get me started on the hunting outfits. You know, if nothing else, it is always about the outfit with me. Hunting clothes these days aren't even good camouflage and even if the patterns weren't so awful you'd think they could at least compensate and cut the clothes so they hung attractively.
And believe me.
In our house I have NOT been secretive or quiet about my distaste for deer season. But despite my loud and differing opinions my son still wants to go deer shooting with his Daddy.
Apparently Ryan promised Beau that when he was 7 he would take him deer shooting. "With arrows," Beau told me, "not guns."
And then Beau was quiet for a second. Contemplating, I suppose. After a moment he asked in the quietest Beau voice possible,"Mommy, do they allow blankies when you go deer shooting?"
Repressed snort, giggle and hiding huge proud smile as I pretended to not understand the question. "What Beau?"
"You know like Blue? Would they allow me to bring Blue to hunting camp?"
And I said, so joyful inside, "Yes! I definitely think blankies are allowed. I would bring my blankie, you know, if I had one."
Of course, Ryan, upon learning of the conversation, set him straight. No blankies allowed.
Then later to me, Ryan said, "I told him he couldn't go until he was 7 or 8. Surely he won't still want to have Blue then. . ."
It is a losing battle.