In my early travels outside of the South, I was astounded to discover people had never heard of kudzu. After all, Southerners have been battling to gain the upper hand of the rapidly growing plant since the 1800s.
One summer night a few years before Mama died, I called her but there was no answer. An hour later with still no answer, I paced the floor and debated whether or not to jump in the car and take the 22-minute drive to her house.
The other day an email arrived from a Korean War veteran who started off by saying, "I suppose someone else will get this, add me to your fan club and you will never hear a word of it. But here it goes anyway."
When I was approaching 7 years old and about to wrap up the first grade, I reigned as the No. 1 reader of books as well as the No. 1 talker. At that time, Daddy decided it was time to teach me a skill he determined would be as necessary to me in life as reading and talking.