“You are so doggone hardheaded!!”
Heard that line before? I certainly did. I was accused of this very crime many times from various ones but mostly from my poor dear mother tasked with the job of raising me into an honest southern gentleman, God bless her. Lord knows it takes nerves of steel, a truckload of prayers, and a bundle of switches to raise a hardheaded youngin. I think my dear mamma met her match with me. I’ll give her credit though. She succeeded in making me a southern boy despite her own mid-western ways but my becoming a true gentleman took about as well as soybean burgers at a Baptist BBQ. We can’t win them all I guess.
I can remember one silly episode from my childhood days at Body Camp Elementary when I couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old and my class was sitting in the cafeteria finishing up lunch. I don’t know what possessed me to say it but I said to my buddies and comrades around me that I had a hard head. It wasn’t meant as a brag or flaunt and I’m not even sure why I even said it at all? Maybe it was just a bumbling attempt on my part to get some conversation started? I don’t know and I can’t rightly remember now. But my little boast certainly did get some conversation and action started. For one by one each one of those dunces around me took turns bonking my head with their fists with amazement and delight just to test how hard my head really was! Which passed with flying colors. I was starting to feel a little silly (and woozy) after a few knocks and decided to put a stop to it after Matt pulled out a math book to clobber me with.
Ok, so I’m hardheaded and hopelessly set in my ways. I ought to change that but I’m too doggone stubborn to be anything else.
