The Deep South

Before any of you pass on into the next life I hope you have the opportunity to spend some time in the South. I'm talking "the Real South": not Kentucky, not Missouri but the place where the Confederacy still has some roots. A group of my friends, twelve in all, made our annual trek to South Carolina last week. It's a golf getaway and we either go toward Augusta, Georgia or Santee, South Carolina. On this trip we headed for South Carolina. My neighbor grew up in this area and she calls it the Low Country.
We always have a fantastic time on these trips. Who wouldn't? Any time I can plunk $20 worth of golf balls in the water, tramp through woods and marshes dodging copperheads, looking for errant shots while keeping a wary eye out for alligators and generally hacking around 18 golf holes, well, it's like a week at Disneyland.
I enjoy observing people and places and Santee is a good place to do so. The community is golf central for northerners; four courses, plenty of restaurants and, of course, the obligatory XXX facilities.
I happened to attend Mass at the Catholic Church in Santee. This took a lot of time on my part. The local yellow pages, under churches, listed 8,456 Baptist offerings. Under Catholic---nothing. I scoped out Santee and found St. Ann's. The church was located down a gravel road, just past a huge marsh in a state park. It was hidden to all except the most knowledgeable of locals. Lucky for me, I can smell a collection plate miles away. Baptists can make it tough on us 'Catlickers' but I was determined. I parked my car in the church lot, nose in. Maybe this is a Catholic thing only but when I attend church at my very large Ohio parish, worshippers, most of them, back in to their spaces so they can make a quick getaway. I kid you not about this: there were at St. Ann's twenty spaces, 16 cars and half of them were aimed to get out of the area ASAP. Where the heck were they going, anyway, and what's the rush?
Remember Jimmy Swaggert, Jim Bakker or any of the TV evangelists of days gone bye? What one thing did they have in common besides wanting your social security check? Yep! It was hair. It was all poofy and swept back. Our thirty year old Catholic priest had poof-poof hair. He was very funny but his hair was funnier. Mass was good, I dropped some cash in the coffers(I'd won some bills on the course the previous day), and nodded to the pretty lady next to me. She sang hymns, I don't. Here's what else I don't do in church, be it southern, in Rome or any place else: I try not to shake hands at the "handshake of peace" and if I do it's done reluctantly. I usually say, "I have a cold" and people appreciate that even though, on my part, it's a lie-----in church, no less.
The best thing, for me, when in the South are young people, ages 23 and under. They are polite. They have been well-trained by their parents. They treat elders as if they were talking to their own grandparents. They say, "Yes, Sir and no Sir". They are a pleasure to be around.
Here's what I don't like about the South: how in God's name people eat biscuits loaded with icky chicken gravy at eight in the morning is way beyond my comprehension.