Confusion and Apple Pie
I spent the day today at the lake with one of my best friends. She and I have the kind of relationship where it honestly doesn't matter how long we're apart, we will still think alike and get along like family. Cassie's family is true Old South, born and raised, with one of East Tennessee's oldest names and longest legacies. Her father used to watch hunting shows while we cooked him dinner at his house, with his tub of congealed lard sitting by the stove and several point bucks mounted on the walls. As easy as it would seem to pin him in a particular redneck category, I'll be damned if Robert Maples can't talk circles around just about anybody. His style is direct-no need to hide behind confusing jargon or careful wording, he just tells it like it is, plain and simple, and he's usually right. He respects women (though is certainly not above a politically incorrect joke or two for his own enjoyment). He knows his current events, he's traveled a respectable amount of the world, and he's got a whip sharp sense of humor to boot. Tough as this perpetually sunburned, burly, grizzly bear of a man may seem, he loves his daughter with just about everything he has. Cassie is the opposite of everything her father seems to be: polished, classy, well dressed, articulate, and well read. The amount of misconception and stereotype one has to overcome being around these two is mind blowing, but always educational and entertaining.
And then there's Robert's brother, Roy. I first meet Roy today, at his lakeside campsite. Roy will be turning 78 tomorrow, I am told as we make our way across the lake. He comes from the side of Cassie's family that I am least familiar with, as I knew her cousin on her mother's side from high school, and Cassie's aunt and family on that side from countless visits to their house, racing golf carts during lunch breaks at band camp, making her shirts and ribbons for her Homecoming Queen campaign, and watching girly movies upstairs in her room. That side of the family has always been nothing but welcoming and wonderful to me, despite my ambiguous religious status and Northern parents. Just kidding. Sort of.
We pull up in the boat, Cassie and I jump out to start unloading, and I meet Roy. Roy is a smaller, less hearty version of his younger brother Robert. Cassie wishes him a happy early birthday and says she's brought him a present. He raises his eyebrows suggestively and points at me hopefully. Cassie laughs and says, no I am not his birthday present, but indeed a human being named Tara. He makes a comment about someone bringing a piece of apple pie to him but not letting him eat it. It is clear from his lascivious tongue wagging that I am the piece of pie. As used to dirty old men as I am by this point (as I posses the at times unfortunate "gift" of overstated curves and easy trust people I shouldn't), I am shocked that the Southern gentleman I was expecting was so up front about it. How difficult is keeping a still tongue in your head and being inappropriate in your head, anyway? I politely laugh it off and help Cassie set up the food away from Roy. We all gather by the picnic table and converse for a while as the burgers cook (I brought tofu dogs for myself). Roy pulls out his wallet and starts showing me semi impressive relics from his past, like his pilot's license and some sort of Army card. We begin to eat, then Roy asks Cassie why she brought such an ugly friend along.
Okay. The previous comments were offensive, but at least flattering in some twisted way. At least Cassie and I can laugh about them later. I had found myself offended by his lack of propriety, sure, but now I am mostly confused about his inconsistencies. Is this man just hell bent on being a jerk? Am I apple pie or ugly? Which offensive road are you taking, old man? 'Cause it's not fair to pick both, I don't know how to react to that. After hearing about "niggers" and having to remind Roy of my name several more times, I excuse myself to use their camper's bathroom. Upon returning, Roy asks me if the toilet seat held up all right, because he'd been doubtful that it would do all right without collapsing.
At this point, I have been in a bathing suit in front of everyone. I am a normal young adult female, and am self conscious about my appearance in general, but especially my weight. In a few hours this man has managed to insult my gender (making many comments about useless women), my appearance, and my pride. I am bordering on punching the man, but true to my Southern breeding I continue being polite. He whistles for his girlfriend (his "concubine" as he called her, as he also had a wife), and he explains to me that he has two kinds of whistles: "a dog whistle and a woman whistle, depending on who I want to pet." I laugh hysterically, because at a statement that ridiculous, what else can you do? Except maybe cry.
The conversation turns to politics. I prime myself for a fiery debate in which I verbally steamroll Roy and make him cry. I tense up for his racist anti-Obama remarks and get...rants about Bush's failures and comments on his pleasure at Obama's stimulus policies and environmental ideals.
WHAT?
I recover from my full on head explosion without anyone noticing. I listen with growing interest (and AGREEMENT) to his detailed, educated arguments and political morals with even more confusion. This man is the epitome of a dirty old Southern man stereotype: rude to women, racist, and a fan of Bud Light. How can he have intelligent world ideals and educated opinions? Not that I mean to imply that being a Democrat is the only way to be intelligent and educated, but that he would choose to educate himself to the point that he would feel exactly the opposite of his expected position catches me completely off guard.
I round out my visit to the lake with a few well timed jabs at Roy, much to the group's amusement, and leave feeling less offended and fat than I had hours earlier. I actually think I may like Roy. I think I enjoy that he has no pretenses and practices no forces nicities, even at times to the point of being obscene. I actually learned a lot from him today. I guess I could make some sort of poignant statement about books and covers and judging, but I think I'll leave it at this. I think it says all it needs to.
And then there's Robert's brother, Roy. I first meet Roy today, at his lakeside campsite. Roy will be turning 78 tomorrow, I am told as we make our way across the lake. He comes from the side of Cassie's family that I am least familiar with, as I knew her cousin on her mother's side from high school, and Cassie's aunt and family on that side from countless visits to their house, racing golf carts during lunch breaks at band camp, making her shirts and ribbons for her Homecoming Queen campaign, and watching girly movies upstairs in her room. That side of the family has always been nothing but welcoming and wonderful to me, despite my ambiguous religious status and Northern parents. Just kidding. Sort of.
We pull up in the boat, Cassie and I jump out to start unloading, and I meet Roy. Roy is a smaller, less hearty version of his younger brother Robert. Cassie wishes him a happy early birthday and says she's brought him a present. He raises his eyebrows suggestively and points at me hopefully. Cassie laughs and says, no I am not his birthday present, but indeed a human being named Tara. He makes a comment about someone bringing a piece of apple pie to him but not letting him eat it. It is clear from his lascivious tongue wagging that I am the piece of pie. As used to dirty old men as I am by this point (as I posses the at times unfortunate "gift" of overstated curves and easy trust people I shouldn't), I am shocked that the Southern gentleman I was expecting was so up front about it. How difficult is keeping a still tongue in your head and being inappropriate in your head, anyway? I politely laugh it off and help Cassie set up the food away from Roy. We all gather by the picnic table and converse for a while as the burgers cook (I brought tofu dogs for myself). Roy pulls out his wallet and starts showing me semi impressive relics from his past, like his pilot's license and some sort of Army card. We begin to eat, then Roy asks Cassie why she brought such an ugly friend along.
Okay. The previous comments were offensive, but at least flattering in some twisted way. At least Cassie and I can laugh about them later. I had found myself offended by his lack of propriety, sure, but now I am mostly confused about his inconsistencies. Is this man just hell bent on being a jerk? Am I apple pie or ugly? Which offensive road are you taking, old man? 'Cause it's not fair to pick both, I don't know how to react to that. After hearing about "niggers" and having to remind Roy of my name several more times, I excuse myself to use their camper's bathroom. Upon returning, Roy asks me if the toilet seat held up all right, because he'd been doubtful that it would do all right without collapsing.
At this point, I have been in a bathing suit in front of everyone. I am a normal young adult female, and am self conscious about my appearance in general, but especially my weight. In a few hours this man has managed to insult my gender (making many comments about useless women), my appearance, and my pride. I am bordering on punching the man, but true to my Southern breeding I continue being polite. He whistles for his girlfriend (his "concubine" as he called her, as he also had a wife), and he explains to me that he has two kinds of whistles: "a dog whistle and a woman whistle, depending on who I want to pet." I laugh hysterically, because at a statement that ridiculous, what else can you do? Except maybe cry.
The conversation turns to politics. I prime myself for a fiery debate in which I verbally steamroll Roy and make him cry. I tense up for his racist anti-Obama remarks and get...rants about Bush's failures and comments on his pleasure at Obama's stimulus policies and environmental ideals.
WHAT?
I recover from my full on head explosion without anyone noticing. I listen with growing interest (and AGREEMENT) to his detailed, educated arguments and political morals with even more confusion. This man is the epitome of a dirty old Southern man stereotype: rude to women, racist, and a fan of Bud Light. How can he have intelligent world ideals and educated opinions? Not that I mean to imply that being a Democrat is the only way to be intelligent and educated, but that he would choose to educate himself to the point that he would feel exactly the opposite of his expected position catches me completely off guard.
I round out my visit to the lake with a few well timed jabs at Roy, much to the group's amusement, and leave feeling less offended and fat than I had hours earlier. I actually think I may like Roy. I think I enjoy that he has no pretenses and practices no forces nicities, even at times to the point of being obscene. I actually learned a lot from him today. I guess I could make some sort of poignant statement about books and covers and judging, but I think I'll leave it at this. I think it says all it needs to.
As your mother, I would like to find Roy and kick his Masogonistic Southern Ass. As a person who has adopted East TN as her home, I had to laugh and nod my head in agreement as I read this. Over the past 20 years living in my chosen place of residence, I have met many Roys. I do say I prefer people who feel so comfortable in their own "perpetually sunburned" skin, that they will tell it like they see it. I appreciate that you could see past his dirty old man stereotype to his obvious layers. I am even more appreciative that you found your voice and gave it right back:)
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