THREE DEGREES APART AND SOCIALISM
I have always said that where most of the universe enjoys six degrees of separation, in the South we only have three – at most. If I wasn’t aware of it before, it became painfully evident my sophomore year in college. I started dating a young man who just happened to be from the small the town nearest the farm my Mama grew up on. The first time I brought him home, naturally she was curious to find out who his family was.
Of all the nice young men at college, not only did I manage to pick one from my Mama’s home town, I found one whose mother was in school with my mother. To make things even more interesting, they were mortal enemies. When Mama realized whose son I was dating, even her good upbringing did not keep her from making snippy remarks.
And the feeling was mutual because when my beau revealed the identity of my mother to his own mother, apparently the reception was not much kinder. In the two and a half years we dated, I never got invited home with him. We would visit his parents at their place at the beach, but never at their home.
Needless to say he dreaded coming home with me. If dealing with my mother wasn’t enough, . . .
(You'll have to wait for the book to see how it unfolds.)
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