My town

I live in a fair sized town in Rankin County, MS. We are (technically) a suburb of Jackson (the state capitol). However, I grew up in Jackson and as schoolkids we made Rankin County the butt of many of our jokes. Rankin County made people think of trailer parks, chicken farms, and small towns filled with not too bright people. (Now we just think of Pearl that way.) But we were quite provincial indeed. When I was in high school, the word went around that we’d better not get caught smokin’ dope in Rankin County because we would probably never be heard from again.

I moved to Rankin County about 12 years ago. My good friends (Randy and Sheila) had built a house about 5 years prior to that, and I was spending most of my time hanging out on the deck out there, so I decided to move out of Madison. (Yes, I had moved "uptown" from Jackson to Madison County. More on that, later.)

Keep in mind that at the time, I had a large headful of graying hair that went down to my butt. My idea of “dressing up” would be to put on some khakis and a shirt that might need to be ironed. I considered jeans to be okay for most social functions. If I didn’t have to go to the office (and sometimes when I did), sweats and tank tops were de rigueur. Oh – and I’m about the hairiest bastard you’ve ever seen. I sport a pelt.

So when I first moved to Rankin County, I would go walking in the evenings – usually to Randy’s house. On one occasion I decided to not take my usual pleasant back-street route, opting instead for the shorter yet busier stretch down Highway 80. It just so happened that I walked right in front of a cop car parked at a gas station. For the next 15 minutes, 4 different cruisers were “nonchalantly” driving up and down the highway, keeping a roving eye upon me. I don’t know if they were just trying to decide what they were going to arrest me for, or if they were scared of me or what. But they were concerned by my presence. I had just turned into the subdivision when Randy pulled up next to me (on his way home from work) and offered me a lift. At that point in time my “tail” had fallen behind and couldn’t see me as there was a building between us. I jumped in the car and we sped off to go drink beers. I have always wondered if the police department went into a frenzied panic looking for me – having given them the slip.

Well, I ended up buying Randy’s house. I spent so much time over there anyway, I think the neighbors didn’t realize that I didn’t already live there! Over the course of the next few years, I ended up cutting my hair and actually wearing slacks less infrequently. Of course, when I’m at the house I rarely get out of my flannels, but I am about comfort.

The police couldn't care less about me now. Maybe I don't look like trouble anymore, or maybe they just know who I am. They are also all very young.

Maybe I have finally become the object of our high-school derision - the "Rankin County Redneck"!