Redneck

I remember hearing somewhere that everyone has a little redneck in them. Okay, actually I think it was Denise Richards on her reality show and she said something about everyone having a little white trash in them. I think that's what she said. Don't quote me.
I don't know about that, but I do know that I have a little bit of redneck in me, and I'm not afraid to admit it. I say a little bit because I have all my teeth and even though we do own a '68 Camaro, it aint up on blocks, thank you very much.
I grew up with a dad that hunted and shot blue rock and I thought nothing of it. I knew how to shoot a gun and had my own Red Ryder BB gun (think Ralphie) by the time I was eight.
I was driving tractors and pickup trucks pulling the pipe trailer to lay irrigation pipe before I could even reach the pedals. I would just sit on the edge of the seat and jump off and stand on the brake when Grandpa said "whoa".
I helped butcher and clean chickens. My job was to clean out the gizzards. Yeah, I don't much like eating them, but they sure were fun to clean out. You'd be amazed at what chickens eat.
I almost drowned in the pig lagoon when I was three. I vaguely remember it, but my mom and dad still tell the story, always saying it was a good thing Grandpa was nearby and heard my screaming or I'd be a goner.
I know the joys of driving out to the field on a sultry late summer afternoon to pick sweetcorn until the box on the back of the 4-wheeler was full then bringing it back home to shuck it.
Growing up, my playground was the pasture, the "crick" (we call creeks "cricks" around here), and the grain bins. My mom never worried about where my sister and I were because there were no strangers around and Dad and Grandpa were always nearby.
My Mr. grew up almost exactly the same as I did. Farm living. Nothing better.
We live in the "big city" now, and it makes me more than a little bit sad that our boys are growing up so differently than we did. They're city boys, born and bred. They will never know the joy of going fishing in your own pond for Bullheads, of jumping in the back of a grain truck loaded with corn or milo, or climbing a mountain of haybales.
Although The Mr. and I enjoy going to fancy-schmancy restaurants (when we have a sitter, that is), we still always have the most fun when we're with our "redneck" friends doing "redneck" things. You know: drinkin' beer, going bowling, parking in the country (oops, did I just say that? and we don't do that with friends either, just to clarify.)
Call it redneck, hick, white trash, hayseed. I just call it normal.

Happy Monday! FF