To Be or Not to Be an Okie

When I was a kid half my family of eleven kids moved with our mom and dad from California to Oklahoma while the other half stayed behind with their spouses and kids. The Oklahoma caravan was warned not to come back someday saying “y’all”.

I’ve lived in Oklahoma since then and though I love so much about it, I try hard to avoid the dialect. If I heard someone say, “Dang! Ain’t that bird over thar a yellow-throated warbler?” I’d probably say, “I reckon,” but that’s just to be polite.

Recently after a medical procedure in Oklahoma while I was being brought out of anesthesia my first words were, “I have a hankerin’ for a hamburger”. Hankerin’. Who says that?

After the hankerin’ incident we decided it was time to leave Oklahoma where we spend our summers and head west to Arizona. I guess a little like Grapes of Wrath. Wait. No.

I inexplicably cut my own hair when I’m in Oklahoma every summer. I follow a style guide taught to me in the 9th grade. Snip snip. Razor razor. Part part. Cut some more. So as soon as we parked the car in our Arizona garage I was calling my gal Lauren for a hair appointment.

Lauren worked her magic but she seemed like she wanted to slap me. I guess she wants to be the professional or something. So afterwards I bopped down the stairs donning my rescue hairdo only to be confronted by a woman at checkout who said my hair looked like Sally Field in Mrs Doubtfire. Now don’t get me wrong, I like Sally Field. I really, really like her, but I do not strive to look like her. Or anyone else from Anytown, Oklahoma.

A couple of days later The Husband and I dressed as a member of the FFA (me, wearing Hub’s actual jacket from however long ago he was that tiny) and a cow (Hubs, wearing a painters frock with painted spots and for-the-love-of-God-please-stand-out-straight ears) for Halloween.

We drove our golf cart to the party. I was wishing someone would say, “Dang. Ain’t that cow riding a golf cart with a red-necked Okie?” Just so I could say, “I reckon so, y’all”. .