Jason Garrigus (calebjustus@aol.com) from 152.163.201.197 at 10/29/01 10:09PM
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    My family was part of the old south. My mother was raised by tender sweetness of a Georgia peach and the home-grown love of a farm-made hillsman. She is Scarlet O'Hara, Julia Sugarbaker, and Stonewall Jackson all rolled into one perfect person. She can stand on the creek bank and wrestle a steer from the mud, bake mouth-watering sour dough bread, can strawberry preserves, grow trees from dead sticks, and remove all tears and pain with a kiss full of love. Daddy, the hunstman, was born in the hills of Tennessee and raised at Reelfoot Lake. Swimming holes and dirt clod fights dotted his childhood; a simple life for a simple man. I am proud that they have passed their heritage on to me. A Southern family--define it with all the athropological mumbo-jumbo you can muster, and you will still never understand it. There is no way to put a single meaning into it. A Southern family is love and honor and loyalty. A Southern family is grace under fire. A Southern family is tolerance, compassion, and friendship. It is unique. It is heart. It is home. Four members or four hundred- it's still family. God given, perfect and timeless. You just can't define it.