Jan 03 2010
The Cost of Good Behavior
We just returned from our visit with Dale’s family down south. When departing any location, Dale and I are used to saying “Manry Clan – Let’s go.” Finding ourselves around others who could also answer to that, Dale was finding it difficult to figure out what to say. His brother solved the problem by declaring, “All Southern Manrys, over here.” Not wanting to accept being termed a Northerner or a Yankee, Dale insisted on saying “All Virginia Manrys – Let’s go.” To be “The Northern Manrys” was too much for him to accept.
While in Baton Rouge, we visited the Rural Life Museum with Uncle Dwayne. The area is set up as an old plantation with church, jail, post office, and commissary buildings. It also has a sugar cane mill where we watched the farmer squeeze the juice out of the cane and boil it down. Zeke, although fond of the jail, liked the commissary the best. He set himself up behind the cash register and started taking orders.
Zeke is now five and a half and believes silence at any time is unnecessary. His mouth starts moving and won’t stop. “Sir, how may I help you? May I take your order? What would you like?” he queried. His father, thinking he could shut him up, responded, “I would like a boy who obeys his mom and dad.” “That’ll be one thousand dollars,” Zeke responded.
Zeke mans the cash register
