When we were growing up in Atlanta, my Dad made the rules. The quirkiest, and most inexplicable, was his assertion that we HAD to wear socks downstairs until May 15, punishable by spanking.
Now, if you're not familiar with the South, invariably in March or April (or sometimes even in January or February) the temperature will spike up into the 80s and 90s and leave you sweaty and wishing for Christmas. On these days, some child would meander downstairs in shorts or a sundress, barefooted, only to receive a stern warning and a chase back upstairs to remedy the sockless issue. "But Daaad, it's like a million degrees outside! This is the craziest rule EVER!" And it is. And it isn't.
My Dad was raised by his mother and his maternal grandmother, two fearless, incredibly bright, wise, funny Southern women. They and their ancestors had always lived in the South, in Dyersburg and Atlanta, and knew intimately its patterns and rhythms. These southern belles taught my dad what they had been taught-- that every Spring, right when you think winter has relinquished its hold on the dogwoods and magnolias, there is a fierce cold snap. Cold enough, of course, to make young children sick if they go without socks.
Certain truths are not scientific and not provable, they are inherited bits of knowledge that work their way into the collective life of a family, of a region. And make for some crazy childhood rules.
But, y'all--it's May 4 and 50 degrees outside.
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