The recent piece on the "War of Northern Aggression" brought a bit of comment. Here's a piece from Jim in Great Falls, Virginia:
Speaking of Virginians, some natives have a difficult time letting go of their past. Which, naturally, brings us to the question: How many Virginians does it take to change a light bulb?
The answer is three: one to change the bulb and two others to talk about how much nicer the old bulb was than the new one.
The quest for tradition isn't limited to the "Old Dominion," however, as illustrated by the following anonymous contribution. This will be the last expedition into American history for a while; we're back in the mainstream tomorrow. You'll need to read the piece carefully, and take it in the "lessons from life" spirit. Clearly, everyone's perspective is different.
Many years ago as a boy I went to visit one exceedingly aged aunt, well into her nineties at that time. Although a native Virginian, by then she lived alone on a modest ranch high on the western plateau. I was surprised to see that the old lady packed a gun, which I was informed she used for dealing with "varmints and critters and such," and not just any gun, a relic by any description.
When I inquired about the firearm I was advised that this was the same gun her granddaddy had given her when he taught her to shoot, and that he had carried it in the "Great War." When she referred to the "Great War," it was clear she meant the Civil War.
This exchange inspired several hours of discussion, during which I was shown further evidence of her granddaddy's treasures.
First to be viewed, I was told, was the "very sword he used to defend our country--when the North invaded America." Next came the medal "given to him on the field of battle by General Lee, after having withstood the Yankee armies with cold steel."
You can imagine the rest of the conversation.
Naturally, this made quite an impression on my young mind. Years after this, as I began to travel, I found myself seated next to several middle-aged ladies from a small Texas town at a banquet. The talk turned to local history, and I related my experiences with this aged aunt.
The looks I received from these several women were consistent, in that they saw no humor or irony whatever in my story, and clearly disapproved of my telling it. Their gaze conveyed a message along these lines:
Who is this stupid northern kid? Is he making fun of a kindly old lady, who was obviously "just plain folks?"