Yeah, my grandparents lived in Atlanta when I was growing up so I experienced it, saw it...felt it at dinner. I did like my grandfathers southern voice, and the beautiful people who would run up to my grandfathers truck when we, alone, would drive down streets (beyond Peach Tree) that I had never heard of, and these wonderful people would run out from their homes with a smile and say, hello, Mr. William. He would tell them about the next job (note, this was the seventies), and they would look at me and call me the blonde angel and hug me. I always felt strange because they loved me so much yet I felt like I didnt deserve it. My grandfather, Bill, had been a Chef on a submarine during WWII, and was very much the southern gentleman after it all. He had models of ships that hung from his walls and this was his sanctuary. I loved him dearly. More so...than anyone because he showed me a kindness and understanding like no other. But that man, could snore like a chimney and thank god for separate rooms! (Grandma knew it best, but I found her strange and creepy). He was the real deal. And Georgia...for me, will forever have my heart. And I agree, my dearest, that we must LOVE one another, no matter the history.
Posted on: Mon, 30 Jun 2014 01:29:59 +0000
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