Kayaks and the old south

My daughter Kerry and I spent most of the weekend together out at the beach. We both enjoy a little adventure, so we decided to rent a kayak and tootle around on Devil's lake. We found we could really get moving when we syncronized our paddles and actually were able to show a respectible wake in the process. Some of the time we just floated and looked at the variety of houses around the lake, other times we tried to see how fast we could go. We were both happy that our nearly 4 hours on the lake only netted a small sunburn and gently sore shoulders.

When we first arrived at the boat rental shop, the owner was helping another group so we wandered around looking at the various boats. We found a beautiful black and white dog that appeared to be part cocker and part lab. I fell in love and began to pet and coo at the beautiful, friendly animal. Kerry began wondering about her name and came up with a few options one being Wesley. We looked and decided she didn't look like a Wesley then Kerry said..."Scout! She's Scout I'll bet...". The dog looked at us and wagged her tail. I said "hello Scout...is that your name?" She smiled at me as only a dog can.

When it was our turn to go into the boathouse and get signed up, I asked the owner first off what the dog's name was. He said "oh, that's Scout!" Kerry and I looked at each other and our eyes kind of bugged. Wow.

As we were moving about the lake I couldn't help but think back to other times and other places. Many years ago Bruce and I paddled a canoe down a river in Georgia near Stone Mountain. I remember how it looked like such a foreign place to me having lived all my life in California. Mom and dad were visiting at that time and they were on some sort of paddle boat and had Steve with them. They all waved as they passed Bruce and me in our little canoe. I can still see my chubby little boy in his white t-shirt and blue shorts waving from the back of the boat with my parents on either side, beaming at him.

This brought other memories back. We lived near the air force base in an apartment. My next door neighbor was a black woman named Anita. She had a little boy about the same age as Steve and the boys often played together. Her husband was also in the Air Force but was stationed overseas. One time Anita became very sick. He little boy was sick as well. She couldn't take him to the doctor so I volunteered to do it. As I sat in the waiting room with this adorable little black boy, it occured to me that the people around me assumed he was mine. Then I tuned into the comments they were making. They were rude and crude. I had never experienced anything like the cruelness I saw that day toward myself and this adorable child. I ignored the comments, but they stayed with me.

I've just finished a book centered around the south. I hate to make generalizations normally, but from my own experience there is an underlying cruelness in those people. I'm not sure if its bred into them, or if its the old 'nature or nurture" thing. I haven't spent much time there in recent years, but the little bit I have I'd have to say the cruelness is still there. I hope someone can prove me wrong.

Just a thought.