Rednecks!

Please note that this post is about rednecks. It's not about hillbillies, sodbusters, hicks, yokels, or bumpkins, or Texas A&M Aggies (and just so everybody knows, any time Aggies hear somebody mention Aggies, they have to yell "woop!" - no matter the circumstances, even if it's a funeral - so expect a couple of those in the comments).

In the past, I didn't care for rednecks. I'm not a redneck and didn't grown up in redneck fashion. And then there was the whole Jeff Foxworthy thing that really confused rednecks with people who just aren't bright - and there's a big difference. As with cornfed midwesterners and yankees (I fit in both categories), the cultural background of the person and their intelligence are mutually exclusive. (Don't worry - the last sentence won't insult any Aggies - there are three-syllable words in there.) In short, because of popular culture, I had been given the idea that "redneck" is synonymous with "dim"

Then through an odd set of circumstances at work, I saw about this guy who was hacking a father of the year contest on the Gastonia Gazette. (Gastonia is where the Charlotteans like to keep the rednecks). A well-known hacker had recently released an article about hacking a dog-show (and losing to somebody who had a better hack), and so it piqued my interest. I read the article on why the guy's kids were voting for him, and it turns out we had a lot in common. Most notably were our love of Jesus Christ and our excitement for adoption. So I started having some brief conversations with the guy.

Soon after, that redneck invited me over to his home for a campfire, where I met another redneck friend of his. I sat on his lawn furniture, enjoyed the company, and enjoyed his family's welcoming attitude and hospitality. Then we moved across town. And they didn't offer to help. Not one wit did they offer to help. They just did. One of the redneck friends asked where the old house was, and he showed up with his big Ford F-250 and left me the keys. He didn't ask if I wanted it, and I didn't ask for it. On Friday night, they inconvenienced us again by coming by the apartment and moving all of our stuff. It was an inconvenience because on Saturday we had to email and call our Sunday School class to let them know we didn't need their help. And I had to call the truck rental place and cancel my reservation for a cube truck. One redneck has a family of people who clean up after themselves (and you) when they're the guests in your home. And the other has a wife who loves to have lots of people over, shares her vast library with Mrs. At Home, and always sends us home with more food.

And these rednecks like to cook, too. Which is good because I like to eat. But for them, cooking isn't just cooking, it's an event. One of the rednecks has invented a very large harness system for roasting a pig above ground (in the Carolinas you normally dig a pit in the ground and roast the pig at ground level - but this was more fun. And the same redneck has been known to spend an afternoon arc-welding a grill to hold a really big cast iron Dutch oven to feed 30 people a pot roast (which makes for excellent chimichangas, by the way).

And then we used a big truck, a four wheeler, some chains, and a bunch of sledgehammers and axes and sweat to completely bust up a very large deck. Then they're always helping people move, giving people rides, opening their homes, and in general just being good people.

At one of those gatherings, I was standing on the edge of the landscaping with about a 10-foot drop beneath me. It was a good place to look over the back yard, see the kids playing off in the woods, and enjoy company. I was told then, that being a redneck meant standing next to the edge of a big drop-off. I had somehow made it into redneck status, if only for a few minutes.

So this afternoon, I'm going to my first crawfish boil. I love crawfish, but have never been to a crawfish boil and never properly eaten a crawfish. And I never heard of a King Cake until this weekend.

So for the rest of my life, I'll be all those types of people that my redneck friends hate. I'm a yankee midwesterner, and I know what prepositions to end my sentences with. And I lived a large part of my life in Texas. And in spite of that, sometimes they pretend to like me (or even forgive me for those things). During the week, you can pass me the smoked sausage, mashed potatoes, and corn thankyouverymuch. But today, I get to be with my redneck people. And maybe one of these days I'll learn to back a trailer.