The summer before I left my small town for college, my Daddy took just me to dinner in “big” Nashville. He shared two important revelations with me. The first was that meat did not have to be eaten well, well, well, well-done---think charred. He never criticized Mother; he merely advised me that there was such a thing as medium rare. He ordered me prime rib medium rare and I was hooked. Neither of us ever discussed that part of my education with Mother. At home we continued to eat beef that was very gray when you cut into it and thanked her graciously for cooking out all the e-coli or whatever the bacteria of the month was that we were avoiding.
The second revelation was a matter of linguistics. “I suppose so” was a more “educated” way to respond to questions he informed me. As opposed to “I reckon,” which never quite sounded even that formal when spoken by most folks in Hoptown. 
Last week at the beach I struggled with the steep steps to the boardwalk that led over the dunes to the beach house----usually with a child in tow. A seemingly difficult task for all “mature” adults. Hubby revealed a secret to me. Don’t look up he said. (That view was pretty daunting.) Just focus on one step at a time. If you look back you can lose your balance and if you look forward too much (way up) you can actually get dizzy. Boy was he right about that! Looking up overwhelmed me---I feared the worse especially, when John Parker was on my hip. As the week went by I realized that those steep steps were a metaphor for life---take them one step at a time.
These are life lessons which I have taken to heart. I eat my premium beef medium rare and enjoy every bite. I use “I suppose” when appropriate and these days I’m taking life one step at a time.
I “reckon” I’ll never forget any of these lessons. I suppose that deep down, I’m still a “reckoning” kind of gal. Dontcha reckon?
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