Good Ol Boys

The other night I was in the kitchen studying cookbooks (and by studying cookbooks, I mean eating snacks) when I found myself rather fascinated by what I was hearing on television. My son was watching one of his shows; he has a lot of shows, mostly on A&E usually about people making money by either buying, selling, or scavenging what I call useless crap. He enjoys watching Storage Wars, Pawn Stars, and other televised celebrations of what I consider hoarder behaviour.
This night, he was watching another favourite Duck Dynasty. Although I had never watched it, I know about the show, it seems many people I know watch it. Many people I see at the mall wear clothing advertising it and many men I see through out Springfield seemed to have adopted the facial hair as some sort of a trend I would title Ways To Make Yourself REALLY Unattractive with the Addition of Facial Hair.This particular Duck Dynasty adventure had two men (I don't know their names, but they had beards) searching for donuts and then staging a contest to eat the donuts. I stood there, fascinated, slowly shaking my head like there might be something I was missing in the appeal of this as television. However, at the same time as I heard the men commentate their adventure, I got it. I got it, because as a kid there was a little shop my parents used to take us to where we ate donuts, and washed them down with Mr. Pibb. Yes, Mr. Pibb, and kids-it doesn't get much more redneck than Mr. Pibb.
These days, I desire neither a Mr. Pibb nor a donut, there's nothing about the taste of either that I really like. I have many of the same feelings about most of the food I grew up eating (heavy country cooking); music I grew up listening to (country); or hobbies my parents enjoyed (camping & floating, I'm a hotel person. I like beds and showers.) My children sometimes seem a bit surprised when I say or do something that reminds them I am from a very small town in rural Missouri. Although Springfield, or Willard (where they attend school) is hardly a cutting edge metropolis, both of them are more progressive than Ava-the county seat of Douglas County, Missouri. My mother was raised there, and my father was raised on a farm, outside of Mansfield and Hartville, both towns smaller even than Ava. And although both of my kids lived in Ava for a while when I taught there, neither of them are old enough to remember living in a town without a mall, multiple fast food options, and  a high school of 1000 students.
Perhaps this is why Duck Dynasty has never appealed to me, I know what rednecks do; I don't need to watch it. And redneck is a term I tend to use with scorn these days, tossing it out in frustration at small minded thinking, rebel flags, or screaming conservatives fighting all forms of civil rights or social progression. But as I watched (and watched again, my son convinced me to watch two whole episodes) I kept thinking "I know these guys." Because I do. They are good ol' boys, and I grew up around dozens of guys just like them.
When I say good ol' boys, I don't mean those strutting kings of small town politics, because I know those guys too, and I detest them. I have had plenty of interactions with these good ol' boys in my days since leaving Ava, and the less of those I meet the better off my life will be. These sorts of good ol' boys are the reason I am glad my son wrestles instead of plays basketball, the reason I am continually frustrated by some of policies or decisions my children's school district makes, and the reason why I was happy to wash my hands of public education. Anyone can be a big fish in a small pond, and these guys are whales in mud puddles.
The kind of good ol' boys I am talking about are people like my dad, who was raised working on a farm and has maintained those values and work ethic his whole life. He still believes in the ideals and morals of a small town: you put your family first, and I don't mean by tweeting Team FOE or rapping about them, I mean by working and saving your money to provide for your family, and always coming through when they need you. I don't ever remember a crisis or emergency in my family that my dad didn't handle. He's the first person you call, the first person who shows up. He worked more than 40 years in public education and paid for the college education of all three of his children. And when he remarried, my stepmom's children became family too. These kind of good ol' boys live by the rules I saw played out on Duck Dynasty:
If you sink something, haul it up- Or in other words, clean up your messes. Take responsibility. You break something, fix it (even if its with duct tape). You lose a job, find another one; someone will always pay a hard worker, no matter what the work. Sometimes you may need to call another guy (or someone with a truck, or a trailer, or both) but you can always solve a problem.
Too many large men sink a boat- Or in other words, everything has its limit. Too many hours of work will kill you; too many drinks will leave you with bruises and a hangover; and too much ego will provide someone a reason to properly kick your ass. Know your limits, know your family's limits, know your friends' limits and live within them. If you don't, you may find yourself up a creek without a paddle, or at the bottom of the creek, looking for your boat.
A deer won't fit in a sports car- Common sense goes a long way to good ol' boys. And we all know you can't haul a deer in a Toyota. My dad, and most of his friends, hunt. I grew up eating wild game, he often fills our freezer with deer meat. Many good ol' boys hunt, and eat what they kill. Many of them fish and eat what they catch, its common sense. These are not men hunting Bengal Tigers, these are men hunting food they will actually eat. They need guns, they use them. And they need big sturdy trucks, that probably guzzle gas, but that's that's their lifestyle and they are entitled to it.
You don't get rid of something just cause its a little rusty-I don't know if the Duck Dynasty boys ever found that barbecue that fell outta the truck, (sometimes I need more snacks) but I understand their desire to fix/return it. My dad always knew a guy who could fix something, if Daddy couldn't fix it himself. My dad saves everything, it used to delight him when his cars would be over 150,000 miles. My stepmom always keeps leftover, or wraps your plate if you don't finish it. They don't waste, people who grew up on farms usually don't. Either they worked too hard to get it, or they aren't sure when another is coming, so you take care of what you have. This barbecue metaphor can also be translated into a relationship one, but no one likes an overly long sermon when supper is waiting.
NASCAR is a sport-Okay it's not. But its fast cars, and that's fun. And it's really, really loud. 'Merica!
Banjos belong in bluegrass bands-This has nothing to do with the show really, I just threw it in for all the hipsters at Starbucks feeling meaningful while they listen to Mumford and Sons. You're not. You're not any more unique, deep, intelligent or reflective than those listening to a good Bluegrass band on Friday night on the Ava square. You're following a trend (multiple trends with your Pumpkin latte, fashionable scarf and Toms shoes) just the same as the wanna be rappers and mini gangstas. Be genuine, be yourself.
Those two episodes may be all the Duck Dynasty I ever watch, but at least I understand why everyone is talking about it. And it was a good reminder of my roots, or as Jay-Z says "never forget where you came from."(Technically Denzel says it in a Jay-Z song). My dad and I don't always agree on everything; I doubt we have ever voted for the same man for President. I probably won't ever take a date to a family function because awkward is not my favourite feeling. I drive a Toyota, he would never buy a "foreign" car. But I respect who he is, and where he came from. Because it's who I am, and where I came from too.