About Me

Christmas Card 2 2016.jpg

Photo by Tammy Rabon Photography, Monticello, FL {Shiloh Farms}

When I was a little girl, my Granddaddy would always affectionately call my Granny “Sugar” in a very slow drawl typical of a man whose family had been settled in North Florida since years prior to the Civil War. He was not the nicest of men, to be frank, ruddy complexion, long finger nails and a bizarre Roman nose that did not fit his very English last name of Cheshire. So, by affectionate, I mean that he would mostly use “Sugar” when he was irritated and annoyed with her. That one syllable word would roll for five minutes off his tongue, and I would roll my eyes, entertained, because Granny was not meek and mild and a verbal lashing was likely coming. Still, I loved them both dearly and was devoted to them until their death on the same night at Christmas, my senior year of high school.

At some point in my recent past, I had a partner who would call me Sugar. Every time the word would come out of his mouth, even in the most loving and kind ways, I would cringe inside, secretly hearing my Granddaddy’s voice in my ears. It seems like such an old-fashioned term of endearment to me, slightly condescending and, for lack of a better word, sweet.

In my new life, my new beginning, I am in search of freedom. One of the freedoms I am enjoying most is the ability to be assertive in a way that my past self never was. I was and am sweet, caramel even, like the amazing candies that you buy on River Street in Savannah that smell like Heaven on Earth; and I am okay with that, but I am also strong-minded, strong-willed and just a little bit enchanting, a unique word that was recently used by a friend to describe me. In the past, I would have flinched away from such a compliment. Now, I embrace it.

It just so happens, too, that my favorite novel has always been Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell. In her most determined survival mode, the heroin Scarlett O’Hara, lashes out at her second husband, whom she had married for his money to save her beloved Tara, “Great balls of fire. Don’t bother me anymore, and don’t call me sugar.”

That’s it then. In my new midlife journey, post-death of my mom, post-divorce, and post-broken engagement, I am not meek and mild. Or in need of a husband to pay my taxes. I am decidedly much more than that.

So you can call me anything; but, please, don’t call me sugar.

Tammy Rabon Photography: {http://www.tammyrabonphotography.com/}

 

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