Eatin' Possum

I read a piece in the newspaper a couple of weeks ago about Possums.  You could tell that the author wasn't  from around here because he kept referring to them as O-Possums.   I haven't heard them called that since...well, never.

But here's the part that blew my mind.  The article said that Possums are eaten commonly in the South.  Are you kidding me?!?   We don't eat possum. 

Now I must admit that I did taste Possum once.  The dad of my good friend Killdee Johnson cooked one up one time just to show us boys what it was like.

So, you ask, what was it like?  Awful.  Greasy.  Really beyond awful.

I grew up eating wild game.  Rabbit shot by my dad was a staple at our table.  Crappie.  The occasional squirrel.  We even made rabbit burgers.  I have friends that love deer meat.

Us boys were always out hunting or fishing something.  Killdee's dad would cook whatever we brought in.  Carp?  Yep.  Nasty.  Tasted like bad mud.  Barbecued groundhog hams weren't too bad.  Wouldn't touch the crow he cooked one time.  I think it was part of a joke.

But there has never been a time when Possum was on the table.  Not at my house or any house I have ever known then or since.

So let's just throw out all the rest of those Southern stereotypes. 

Like that we talk funny. 

I'll admit that growing up, one of the things that bothered me was when somebody would say "you-uns."  It embarrassed me for a family member to use that term.  If you're from around here, you know what I'm saying.  If not, ask somebody.

Then I found out that this really has its origins in Scotland and that since much of this area was settled by the Scottish, it was actually true to our heritage to say "you-uns."

Or that we're kinda, you know, slow.  That one may have come from the way many of us are slow to respond, deliberate in our answers.  I don't know about you, but many of the mistakes in my life have happened when I didn't slow down to think things through.

Spouting out the first thing that comes into your brain just isn't wise.  I've got a buddy from well north of the Mason-Dixon line that just spouts out whatever he's thinking.  His mouth keeps him in trouble and makes him few friends.

If slow means dumb, well I think we've pretty much answered that one.  Some of the world's greatest artists, writers, scientists, doctors, architects, you name it, have come from the South.   

That we're all "backwoods hicks."  Or "country bumpkins." Call us what you want to, nobody (and I do mean nobody) retires and moves north.    We already had that part figured out.