About Dawson County news. (Dawsonville, Georgia) 2015-current | View Entire Issue (Oct. 5, 2022)
PAGE 5A Send a letter to the editor to P.O. Box 1600, Dawsonville, GA 30534; fax (706) 265-3276; or email to editor@dawsonnews.com. DawsonOpinion WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 5,2022 This is a page of opinion — ours, yours and others. Signed columns and cartoons are the opinions of the writers and artists, and they may not reflect our views. Fixin to try and explain how us Southerners talk I have met a number of folks recently who migrated from across the Mason- You-Know-What- Line and have set tled in the Great State of Georgia. We enjoy each other’s company but there is a bit of a language barrier. We all speak the same one — English — but we speak it differently. They talk fast and make their point quickly. In the South, we tend to meander a bit and say things softly and slowly. I’m not really sure why we Southerners talk like we do but the fact is that we do. There is no question we are economical with the language. Unlike other parts of the country, we don’t find it necessary to stick extraneous letters on our words. Like put ting a “g” on the end of words. If you haven’t figured out that we are saying “fus- sin’” or “fightin”’ by the time we get to the end of the word, sticking a “g” on it, ain’t gonna make much difference. Same with “r’s.” We use them on the front end of important words like “Readin”’ and “Rasslin’,” but we don’t feel compelled to put them on a lot of other words, like “over” or “under.” We just say “ovuh” and “unduh.” Even the Supreme Being doesn’t rate an “r” in the South. We just call him “Lawd.” (“Lawd, what’s all the fussin’ and fightin’ about? I thought it was ovuh.”) And then there is the word that defines us perhaps more than any other: “Y’all.” (Actually, it is two words, but just one to Southerners.) Instead of going to all the trouble of referring to “you people” or to “those of you assembled,” we just say y’all, Emigres may think we are referring to yawl, a two-masted fore-and-aft-rigged sailboat with the mizzenmast stepped far aft so that the mizzen boom overhangs the stem. Trust me, y’all. We ain’t. “Fixin”’ is one of our favorite words in the South. We use it like everyone else does when we are going to repair something. However, we also use “fix” as a substitute for “preparation” which has too many “r’s” and takes too long to say. We “fix” supper and then announce to the family to wash up because “we are fixin’ to eat.” But one thing you will never hear a native Southerner say is “I’m fixin’ to go to watch me a little ice hockey.” An expatriate from New York described to me the shock she experienced when a friend told her she was “fixin’ to pick up Momma and carry her to the grocery store.” It conjured up visions of lifting a frail old lady out of her rocking chair, hoisting the poor thing on her back and trudging off to the grocery store. In fact, what her friend was saying was that she was making preparations to drive to her mother’s home in order that the two of them could ride to the grocery store and do their shopping together. But, again, why waste all those words. She knew what she meant. So did Momma. In the South, we use many of the same words that people do in other parts of the country. We just assign them different meanings. Take the word “bard.” Your first thought might be William Shakespeare, the Bard of Avon. Here, “bard” means you took something that doesn’t belong to you and you had better return it when you get through with it. (“Dang it, Honey! That sorry brother of yours done bard my riding mower again without askin’.”) Noah Webster defines “moan” as “to utter a low dull sound from grief or pain.” When we say “moan,” we mean to get the lead out and start moving. (“Moan, Clarence, we ain’t got all day.”) Same with “far.” Some define far as a long way off. Far keeps us warm and we can cook on it, too. To many people a ranch is a place in Montana where Ted Turner raises buffaloes. We have ranches, too, only our ranches are more utilitarian. We have pipe ranches and socket ranches and we need them if we are fixin’ to fix things. Finally, to my friends from up North, if I say “Hi-U,” I’m not talking about a soft drink or a place that rents trailers. I’m say ing hello. That’s the universal Southern greeting. It means I’m glad to know y’all. And indeed I am. Now, if y’ all will excuse me, I must go. I’m fixin’ to pick up my friend and carry him to supper. You can reach Dick Yarbrough atdick@dick- yarbrough.com; at P.O. Box 725373, Atlanta, GA 31139; online at dickyarbrough.com or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/dickyarb. I KNOW NOBODY LIKES ME... WHY DO WE HAVE to HOLD the MIDTERM ELECTIONS to EMPHASIZE IT? © 2022 CREATORS.COM 3AFTER CHARLES SCHULZ WWW.TOMSTIGLICH.COM In search of useful, unsolicited advice The unsolicited advice began the minute the test turned pink. Not sure what it is about being pregnant that makes total strangers give you ran dom, unsolicited advice. I could be standing in line at the grocery store, trying to skim through the National Enquirer in peace, and have some person I had never met before start telling me all kinds of wild and sundry things. Did I have heartburn? Was I craving certain things? “Drink some ginger tea.” one told me. “Make sure you eat what you’re craving or it will make the baby fussy.” These strangers had all kinds of bits of wisdom and insight for everything I could possibly need as well as other things I had never heard of. Once Cole was bom, the advice kept coming. Burp him this way, hold his head that way. “Are you giving him formula? How do you warm the bottles? Don’t use the microwave - it can get the bottles too hot.” The well-intended assault came in pub lic from strangers and over the phone from extended family and friends. The only meaningful advice I received was from my childhood friend, Jane, who called me at the hospital shortly after I made it back to my room from delivery. She must have known I was scared out of my mind that I would mess things up somehow. “Just whatever you do, do it out of love,” she said gently. “And you’ll do fine.” I promised I would. Some advice wasn’t helpful or even wanted. “Make sure he sleeps on his stomach,” a stranger told me. “Actually, it’s back to sleep,” I said. There was a whole poster in the pediatri cian’s office about this very thing. “Are you sure?” the lady questioned. “Yup.” I had scoured everything I could to make sure and was certain the proper sleeping position was on his back. I was told not to let him have a pacifier too long, not to give him sugar before he turned one. not to let him sleep with a nightlight. All kinds of random, well-meaning stuff, but I’d wager that about 99.99 per cent of it was unsolicited. There were plenty of things I needed help with and I knew whose wisdom I trusted, and it was quite limited: Mama and Granny. As he grew into a toddler, there was a new slew of those insights that were given from the peanut gallery. Those arbitrary inputs came with each passing year it seems, followed by the instructions of how to deal with every variety of milestone. I was cautioned about the Terrible Twos, about how to make sure he wasn’t a biter, what to do if he was the one bitten. He was an only child - was I concerned about him learning to share? Being an only child myself, that was not something I was concerned about in the least. “Don’t blink, he’ll be grown before you know it.” one woman commented. “Enjoy every second,” I was also told. After he reached the double digit age zone, the influx of the advice seemed to slow down somewhat. Maybe it was the fact that some folks realized it was a bit intrusive or maybe they think parents should have a few things figured out by this point. I was thankful whatever the cause was. Of course, as he entered his teen years, some more advice began to flow. I tried to just graciously smile and nod, knowing that once again, people just meant well. Problem was, but no one ever told me how to deal with him growing up. How to handle the fact that he’s no lon ger that little blonde-haired boy who would run to me and climb up in my lap. The one who’d wait for me all day just to cuddle him and read to him. Like those sages had warned, I some how blinked and those moments were memories. He’s now 18, and in his mind, and to most of society, he’s grown. I know millions of other parents have gone through this - this harrowing experi ence of realizing your child is becoming their own person and their life may sur prisingly not revolve around you. It’s scary and heartbreaking at the same time. As he grows more and more indepen dent, I am always proud of the man he’s becoming but still see that little boy in my mind’s eye, the child that wanted and needed his mama most of all. “He’s growing up,” my husband will tell me gently, when he knows how hard it hits me. “You’ve got to let him grow up.” “I know.” I respond wistfully. Now, if someone would just tell that to my heart. Sudie Crouch is an award winning humor columnist and author of "The Dahlman Files: A Tony Dahlman Paranormal Mystery." SUDIE CROUCH Columnist DR. ANDERSON Current top diseases down, but new ones could always arise By Dr. Larry Anderson Anderson Family Medicine The news has been lack ing on anything about COVID or Monkeypox or Avian Influenza. Does this mean these maladies have gone away? No. You just have to look at different sources. This morning Rural Radio had a report about farmers being concerned about baling straw and placing them in their barns. Will the straw have drop ping from birds flying over and contaminating the straw and placing the farm at risk by spreading Avian Influenza? COVID is finally decreasing in our county. Not sure what everyone is doing but it seems to be working. Good job! No new news on monkeypox. One final word on what to do when you don’t know what to do when something bad breaks out again. This is where we take a lesson on public health from the Bible. Place all the sick people in one area, provide the necessities like food, water, shelter and clothing. Have someone responsible check them over when they seem to be over the malady and let them back into the fold with the rest of us. Talk to your Pastor about this one. The Ukrainians seem to be getting stronger but still have a ways to go. To quote Yogi Berra, it ain’t over til it over. Keep the prayers going. We all need peace. Thanks for reading LETTERS I am a victim I am an old white guy. I am a south erner and married to my first wife. It does not look like there will be need of a second. I am a Republican, conservative, Christian, military vet, and worst of all a devoted carrier and student of west ern civilization. I eat meat and use electricity that is made from coal. I have single handed- ly destroyed the entire globe because I bathe regularly and drive a car. I helped raise our two children, got them educated and set off in life with out debt and they are self-sufficient and not a burden on the government. I do not blog or belong to the face thingy. I have not served time in jail or burned a building down to protest. I buy my underwear at Walmart and have never had to loot one TV. I had to show up for the third shift in hot weather and work hard. I had to study for my school tests and practice sports. I was never voted the best of anything and my trophy shelf is pretty empty. I had my hinny whipped several times by bullies and some girls turned me down for dates. You put all these things together and yet according to what I read in the national news I am the cause of all the misery and want in the world. It is a heavy burden to bear. Gary Pichon Marble Hill Letter policy Letters should be limited to 350 words and may be edited or con densed.The same writer or group may only submit one letter per month for consideration. Letters must be submitted by noon Friday for midweek publication. We do not publish poetry or blanket let ters and generally do not publish letters concerning consumer com plaints. Unsigned or incorrectly identified letters will be withheld. Mail letters to the Dawson County News, RO. Box 1600, Dawsonville, GA 30534, hand deliver to 30 Shoal Creek Road or email to editor@dawsonnews. com.
