. . . the grits of home . . . an Appalachian fantasy

April 30, 2019

For a brief time during my teens, when I was becoming aware of the racist and homophobic society into which I had been born, I began to refuse certain symbols of that society —

     —  like turnips, and rutabagas, and Baptists  —  and grits.

I was stupid, and I’ve spent decades attempting to make amends.  As a tourist guide in Belize, grits were available in the grocery stores, and I brought them home to Merida, and on trips to the US, for years, I imported Jim Dandy, or Quaker.

     Today, I make my own, after investing in a three thousand peso “grist mill”.  

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Durante un breve período durante mi adolescencia, cuando me di cuenta de la sociedad racista y homofóbica en la que nací, comencé a rechazar ciertos símbolos de esa sociedad:

      - como nabos, y colinabos, y bautistas - y “grits".

Fui estúpido, y he pasado décadas intentando enmendarme. Como guía turística en Belice, los grits estaban disponibles en las tiendas de comestibles, y las llevé a casa en Mérida, y en viajes a los Estados Unidos, durante años, importé a Jim Dandy o Quaker.

      Hoy, hago el mío, después de invertir en un molino de tres mil pesos.

 

 

 

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