Dumb Rednecks
A few weeks ago, the mate and I went to his nephew's high school graduation. Three whole rows were occupied by this extended family tree, and a whole branch wasn't even there.
You know that rowdy group of people at every graduation, wedding, bar mitzvah, and cocktail bar you've ever attended? The ones yelling inappropriately, with the small child running up and down behind a row making truck noises, and whispering with all the subtlety of an ocean wave crashing ashore?
Yeah, that was our family.
At one point, the father of the graduate leaned over and told me that the young man onstage, the salutatorian, was "a giant pain in the butt." Apparently, the kid was our nephew's mortal enemy. This sounds like my brother in law was just filling in some colorful details for me, but what I have not yet mentioned is that the salutatorian's parents were sitting six inches in front of us.
This was a church school, so the ceremony was being held in the church. (That's how much we love our nephew - we risked lightening strikes to attend.) My mate and I were dressed in church clothes, a suit for him and a raspberry colored pantsuit for me. We blended in with the blessed ones, actually. It was the true believers we were sitting with that didn't blend. The graduate's maternal grandfather was wearing his finest T-shirt, advertising a specific sort of seafood dining establishment. Another uncle had pulled out the formal denims, with paint on the hems.
Since the student body was so tiny, they gave out awards for everything up to and including consistent breathing. There were certificates for the highest grade point average in each subject, as well as overall. One young lassie, most certainly saving herself for Jesus because, well, because of the usual reason, was trotting up to the stage every two seconds, and the salutatorian every three. Both were reasonably popular kids, and there was plenty of applause.
Then the nephew got the "top grades in photojournalism" award.
Pandemonium broke out. The entire family was whooping, screaming, clapping, yelling his name. His sisters tried to start the wave. Mind you, he'd TOLD us that the class was purely an excuse to nap in the middle of the day for most people, so he'd basically just received a prize for having a pulse.
Finally, the actual graduating started. Being at the ass end of the alphabet, our boy was second from last in the diploma line. That meant we'd had plenty of time to rest up for more shrieking, cheering, and hopping up and down. The kid had a million friends, too, so the place was really jumping.
Through it all, people had been staring, turning, pointing, tsking, shushing, and glaring. At the reception, for some reason, the other attendees were nervous about standing too close to our family table, lest they be mistaken for members. Clearly, we were of the lowest possible caste in this Christian brotherhood of equals in the eyes of God.
Thing is, when you're in a group of more than twenty people and you're all hugging and yelling and picking up stray kids to cuddle and taking pictures, it's difficult to notice that you're being shunned.
The conclusion is simply thus, and I never would have believed it - it is far more fun to be in a pack of dumb rednecks than to sniff at them.
You know that rowdy group of people at every graduation, wedding, bar mitzvah, and cocktail bar you've ever attended? The ones yelling inappropriately, with the small child running up and down behind a row making truck noises, and whispering with all the subtlety of an ocean wave crashing ashore?
Yeah, that was our family.
At one point, the father of the graduate leaned over and told me that the young man onstage, the salutatorian, was "a giant pain in the butt." Apparently, the kid was our nephew's mortal enemy. This sounds like my brother in law was just filling in some colorful details for me, but what I have not yet mentioned is that the salutatorian's parents were sitting six inches in front of us.
This was a church school, so the ceremony was being held in the church. (That's how much we love our nephew - we risked lightening strikes to attend.) My mate and I were dressed in church clothes, a suit for him and a raspberry colored pantsuit for me. We blended in with the blessed ones, actually. It was the true believers we were sitting with that didn't blend. The graduate's maternal grandfather was wearing his finest T-shirt, advertising a specific sort of seafood dining establishment. Another uncle had pulled out the formal denims, with paint on the hems.
Since the student body was so tiny, they gave out awards for everything up to and including consistent breathing. There were certificates for the highest grade point average in each subject, as well as overall. One young lassie, most certainly saving herself for Jesus because, well, because of the usual reason, was trotting up to the stage every two seconds, and the salutatorian every three. Both were reasonably popular kids, and there was plenty of applause.
Then the nephew got the "top grades in photojournalism" award.
Pandemonium broke out. The entire family was whooping, screaming, clapping, yelling his name. His sisters tried to start the wave. Mind you, he'd TOLD us that the class was purely an excuse to nap in the middle of the day for most people, so he'd basically just received a prize for having a pulse.
Finally, the actual graduating started. Being at the ass end of the alphabet, our boy was second from last in the diploma line. That meant we'd had plenty of time to rest up for more shrieking, cheering, and hopping up and down. The kid had a million friends, too, so the place was really jumping.
Through it all, people had been staring, turning, pointing, tsking, shushing, and glaring. At the reception, for some reason, the other attendees were nervous about standing too close to our family table, lest they be mistaken for members. Clearly, we were of the lowest possible caste in this Christian brotherhood of equals in the eyes of God.
Thing is, when you're in a group of more than twenty people and you're all hugging and yelling and picking up stray kids to cuddle and taking pictures, it's difficult to notice that you're being shunned.
The conclusion is simply thus, and I never would have believed it - it is far more fun to be in a pack of dumb rednecks than to sniff at them.
posted by Sanya at 10:25 AM
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