Accepting being a Southern Mama...

Had somewhat of an unusual experience last night, considering I would call myself a "city girl" and much prefer the urban scene than that of small town. Just ask the 1999 calendar where every single day of my senior year is painstakingly X'ed off in red marker, counting the days until I could leave that small town.

Yet it's all about perspective.

A season of youth rec baseball games has softened my heart, I think. At first I was an outsider, standing awkwardly by the fence, counting the seconds until the hour was up.  Finally, I moved to the edge of the bleachers, where one or two moms smiled and said "Hi." Now we're sitting hip to hip, standing and flinging cracker crumbs and spittle as we yell at an adolescent ump for a bad call or high-fiving for a great pop-fly-turned-homer thanks to an inept 8 year old shortstop with apparently greasy fingers.

After a great game of joking with the "team mom", who affectionately calls my son Grasytie (much to his chagrin and our amusement), and a shut-out score of 16-6, we were driving home down country roads at twilight. The sweet smells of honeysuckle and clover was thick in the air as we smiled into the warm wind rushing in the open windows. Grayson turned the radio to country music, and we turned it up and coasted over the rolling hills, laughing and yelling at cows staring curiously at us, and drinking in the beauty of the southern meadows until we were drunk on life, love, baseball, and family.
                              
I still have tattoos, rock out, am blatantly liberal, and love urban life, but the small town southern girl who ran barefoot in summer rains at my grandpa's farm has begun oozing out the edges at the sight of my son's tanned face glowing from first base, where his hat tips back and he returns onlookers' heckles with a hint of southern twang and lightning-quick wit. I'm a southern mama, born and raised, it's an essential part of who I am, and it makes me unwind a little, sit on the porch a little longer, smile and laugh a little slower, and accept all the parts of my heritage that make up the patchwork that is me.