with every visit to his grandmother's house and with each dash through the countryside following the necklace of Marine bases strung through the swamplands of the Carolinas and Virginia.
Rising on one elbow, Ben addressed a question to the front seat. "When do ya'll think we'll get there?"
"Ya'll?" Bull roared. "Ya'll isn't a damn word. What's this 'ya'll' stuff? I go overseas for twelve months and I come back to my boys all talking like grits."
"Ya'll is perfect grammar, Ben darling," Lillian objected. "It's perfect and it's precise."
"Don't use that word when you're addressing me. You got to realize, Lillian, that a southern accent sounds dumb anywhere outside of the Mason-Dixon grit line."
"I think it sounds cultivated. Anyway, you've managed to make sure none of the children have a southern accent."
It was true. None of Bull Meecham's children had accents. Their speech was not flavored with the cadences of the South, the slurred rhythms of the region where they had spent their entire lives. Every time one of his children made a sound that was recognizably southern, Bull would expurgate that sound from his child's tongue on the spot. Though the Marine Corps put its bases in the South, he could never accustom himself to the sad fact that he was inevitably raising southern children. He could exorcise the language of the South, but he could not purify his children of the experience that tied them forever to the South, to the strange separateness, the private identity of the land which nourished and enriched their childhoods.
"Let's see what else has gone to pot since the Big Dad has been gone," Bull announced. "What is the capital of Montana, Karen?"
"I just woke up, Daddy," Karen protested.
"I didn't ask you for a speech. I just asked a question."
"Bismarck," she answered after thinking for a moment.
"Wrong. You're supposed to know them all."
"Helena,' Matt said.
"Right, Matt."
"Here's another one, Karen. This will be a chance to redeem yourself. "
"It's too early in the morning, Daddy. I don't feel like playing 'Capitals.'"
"Too bad," he answered. "What's the capital of Idaho?"
"Just a minute. Don't tell me. Let me think about that one."
"You ought to know it right off the bat, girlsey," he said.
"Boise," she screamed.
"Yeah, but I gave you a hint."
"Mary Anne," Bull said," what's the capital of Uruguay?"
"Montevideo."
"Ben, the capital of Afghanistan."
"Kabul."
"Good, good. I'll tell you kids something right now. You are lucky to be part of a Marine Corps family. There are no kids in America as well trained in geography as you. You've been to more places than civilian kids even know about. Travel is the best education in the world."
"Sugah," Lillian cooed," the reason the children know all those capitals is because you threatened to kill them if they didn't learn them."
"It's called motivation, Lillian," Bull answered, grinning.
Ben sat back against his pillow thinking about what his father had just said. Then he said," We sure have lived in some of the great cities of the world, Dad. Triangle, Virginia. Jacksonville, Havelock, and New Bern, North Carolina. Meridian, Pensacola, and now Ravenel, South Carolina. You can't get much luckier than that."
"I met some Air Force brats in Atlanta. Now they do some good traveling. They'd lived in London, Hamburg, Rome, all over Europe. They'd skied in the Alps. They'd seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa. One of the boys spoke three languages. All of them had been to operas and gone to symphonies. I wonder how the Ravenel symphony measures up to the London Philharmonic," Mary Anne said.
"I can tell you all you need to know about Europa," Bull said. "I just spent a whole year inspecting the continent."
"Did you go to the Louvre, Daddy?" Mary Anne asked.
"Sure, I went in to check out the Mona Lisa. You can stand anywhere in the room where that picture is and the Mona Lisa's eyes will follow you. Leonardo Da Vinci did a commendable job with that portrait."
"You
Rising on one elbow, Ben addressed a question to the front seat. "When do ya'll think we'll get there?"
"Ya'll?" Bull roared. "Ya'll isn't a damn word. What's this 'ya'll' stuff? I go overseas for twelve months and I come back to my boys all talking like grits."
"Ya'll is perfect grammar, Ben darling," Lillian objected. "It's perfect and it's precise."
"Don't use that word when you're addressing me. You got to realize, Lillian, that a southern accent sounds dumb anywhere outside of the Mason-Dixon grit line."
"I think it sounds cultivated. Anyway, you've managed to make sure none of the children have a southern accent."
It was true. None of Bull Meecham's children had accents. Their speech was not flavored with the cadences of the South, the slurred rhythms of the region where they had spent their entire lives. Every time one of his children made a sound that was recognizably southern, Bull would expurgate that sound from his child's tongue on the spot. Though the Marine Corps put its bases in the South, he could never accustom himself to the sad fact that he was inevitably raising southern children. He could exorcise the language of the South, but he could not purify his children of the experience that tied them forever to the South, to the strange separateness, the private identity of the land which nourished and enriched their childhoods.
"Let's see what else has gone to pot since the Big Dad has been gone," Bull announced. "What is the capital of Montana, Karen?"
"I just woke up, Daddy," Karen protested.
"I didn't ask you for a speech. I just asked a question."
"Bismarck," she answered after thinking for a moment.
"Wrong. You're supposed to know them all."
"Helena,' Matt said.
"Right, Matt."
"Here's another one, Karen. This will be a chance to redeem yourself. "
"It's too early in the morning, Daddy. I don't feel like playing 'Capitals.'"
"Too bad," he answered. "What's the capital of Idaho?"
"Just a minute. Don't tell me. Let me think about that one."
"You ought to know it right off the bat, girlsey," he said.
"Boise," she screamed.
"Yeah, but I gave you a hint."
"Mary Anne," Bull said," what's the capital of Uruguay?"
"Montevideo."
"Ben, the capital of Afghanistan."
"Kabul."
"Good, good. I'll tell you kids something right now. You are lucky to be part of a Marine Corps family. There are no kids in America as well trained in geography as you. You've been to more places than civilian kids even know about. Travel is the best education in the world."
"Sugah," Lillian cooed," the reason the children know all those capitals is because you threatened to kill them if they didn't learn them."
"It's called motivation, Lillian," Bull answered, grinning.
Ben sat back against his pillow thinking about what his father had just said. Then he said," We sure have lived in some of the great cities of the world, Dad. Triangle, Virginia. Jacksonville, Havelock, and New Bern, North Carolina. Meridian, Pensacola, and now Ravenel, South Carolina. You can't get much luckier than that."
"I met some Air Force brats in Atlanta. Now they do some good traveling. They'd lived in London, Hamburg, Rome, all over Europe. They'd skied in the Alps. They'd seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa. One of the boys spoke three languages. All of them had been to operas and gone to symphonies. I wonder how the Ravenel symphony measures up to the London Philharmonic," Mary Anne said.
"I can tell you all you need to know about Europa," Bull said. "I just spent a whole year inspecting the continent."
"Did you go to the Louvre, Daddy?" Mary Anne asked.
"Sure, I went in to check out the Mona Lisa. You can stand anywhere in the room where that picture is and the Mona Lisa's eyes will follow you. Leonardo Da Vinci did a commendable job with that portrait."
"You
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