A Matter of Opinion

My husband and I have two good-looking kids and, as you may have heard me mention one or two thousand times, we’ve also been blessed with four beautiful grandchildren. The little tricycle motors have managed to turn both of us into those obnoxious grandparents we used to make fun of back in the day. We once rolled our eyes at the people who used to pull out their grandchildren’s pictures, but times are changing. With special thanks to our cell phones, we’re now Quick Draw Mcgraw with the instant video footage instead. I feel like we’d be able to keep folks’ attention longer if we could figure out how to serve popcorn and coke but we haven’t worked out those kinks. Not yet.

The sort of bias I’m describing reminds me of a saying we have here in the south, “Every old crow thinks hers is the blackest.” It’s our roundabout way of saying that every mother thinks her child is the prettiest. I like that, too, but I’ve heard stories that suggest it may not be entirely true.

For instance, my Papaw used to tell a tall one about a young mother who boarded a bus with her three children and a very interesting looking baby. She had just finished paying her bus fare and was looking the bus over for an empty seat when she overheard the bus driver turn to a fellow sitting behind him and remark, “Did you see that? Mercy! That has got to be the ugliest baby I’ve seen in a long time.”

Devastated, the young woman slid into a seat next to an old man with big thick glasses and burst into tears. The old gentleman patted the young mother on her shoulder, leaned over towards her and said, “Listen, ma’am. I don’t know what that rude driver said to you, but if you’d like to go back up there and give him a piece of your mind, I’ll be glad to hold your monkey.”

Hugs,
Shellie