Slurp!

While my mother hated living in rural, small town USA and missed the city, my father I think reveled in thinking he was raising two sturdy, down-home country boys. I remember once when I was maybe 6 or 7, and we were at some event, who knows what, and there was some sort of drink station, but there were no cups. I started whining that there were no cups and my Dad says "goddamit, you boys are a coupla rednecks, use your damn hands!!" I distinctly remember realizing at that momemnt "oh, we're different from him." A strange, though not particularly unpleasant moment in realizing a part of yourself at such a young age.