Saturday, March 19, 2011

The girl he raised...

I am the daughter of a preacher.

A Southern man.

Without airs and pretense, a firm believer in duct tape.

His collar blue, tinged with red.

The man that raised me, as you may have assumed, isn't a big fan of psychology and thus missed out on any realization that the right way to raise me was to hang on me the mantle of Princess.

My Daddy is a hard worker and balks at laziness...
It never occurred to him to let me be anything other than the girl he raised...

before my first manicure, I knew the value of putting your hands to work and finishing a job...
before ever relying on pilates, I knew the satisfaction that can only come from working your body physically to exhaustion and the strength that it builds...
before creams and potions littered my counter top , I knew the blush given by a day of working in the sun...

I never attended a cotillion....I wasn't introduced to society as a debutante...

I never lacked because I was equipped with the ethic to do what needs to be done. There is no job that is below my station and that beans and cornbread when eaten with a thankful heart-fills a part of your heart and soul that the most dignified palate fails to enjoy.

today I spent six hours working outside...
as I loaded and unloaded six truckloads full of limbs and brush. I thought a lot about the girl I am.

the girl that enjoys a pedicure, day at the spa and the salon that serves chilled water and wine...
the way twelve hundred count sheets feel against freshly showered skin...
the taste of Godiva...

is the same girl that can haul and carry fifty pound sacks of chicken feed and shoot a twelve gauge.

I don't fit a demographic or cast a glance down at those that might...

My lineage is the working class...

it's a privilege.


"That's something to be proud of
That's a life you can hang your hat on"






4 comments:

Sweetie Berry said...

well done. I am thankful for you...for the beauty you display to all by owning yourself and sharing all that you are with us.

Lauren said...

There is something about this time of year that renews the drive to work outside, inhale that fresh air, and enjoy every second. I miss you!

Madame Rubies said...

Ya know, I like the girl he raised quite a bit.

Jan said...

Cheri, you say it so well. I too was raised to not fear hard work, girl or not--on a farm with cattle and chickens, pigs and vegetable gardens. I can still see you standing at my desk with those 80's glasses of yours, big hair, and a beautiful smile. I can also still hear your sweet voice. And I can still hear you proclaim, "My stars!" Thank you for sharing your most treasured thoughts with the world.