Will the Real Girls Please Stand up - Part One
Listen! This Is The Real Sound Of A Fox.
Since The Year Of 1967,
my first year of junior high school, I have always had a tough time dealing with girls. Not that I don't appreciate them, because I do. It is just the way (some) girls are named and how they smile, giggle, and put their hair on the right side behind their ear. Please tell me that this is only a natural flex, not a way to express her sensuality. The fact is I have witnessed ONE pretty girl (in my high school class) who loved to keep the hair on the right of her head, and I felt very nice about what I had just witnessed--but how was I supposed to feel when I witnessed THREE girls move their long hair behind their eats, giggling to each other, and then smiling as they strolled away.
The only reason I can tell you is that I was raised in the Rural Area of Northwest Alabama during the early 60's and did not have the access to the proper mentors who would have taught me everything that I needed to know about girls, girls' names, mannerisms, what they like and don't like--but there were NO intelligent mentors to be found.
The Same Atmosphere Existed In 1968
and even at the early age of my second year of my "illustrious" second year of junior high school, I knew that I was experiencing virtually the same rituals, same girls putting their hair back over their ears, giggling, and never giving me the time of day. I have always thought "what if," I had asked these young beauties what time it was? But what intelligence lived in my brain kept me from these girls calling me a FOOL in unison.
Then one day, I think maybe it was on a Wednesday, I walked into my Home Room, greeted my teacher, and sat down in my desk. Before the teacher called the roll, there was a certain amount of verbal chatter which is normal for high school life, then it happed! One guy who always sat in the back of the room saw this gorgeous girl, "Jeanne," was her real name, blond, blue eyes, very pretty walked into the room and this guy let go a . . ."I gotta get to know this blond chick!" My mind tried to process the guy's loud statement, and any minute I thought that "Jeanne," was going to tell him off, but she only winked, tucked her hair on the right side back between her ear, giggled and sat down. I am honest. I witnessed every minute of this verbal exchange and left not knowing anything about the certain symbolism that had just transpired.
The term,"chick," I found out later was some of the guys' way to express their desire to take the "chicks" out to eat, go to the movies, or just go walking in our city park. "Chicks?" I ask you, my most-learned friends, is this "chick" thing more or less a biological thing? Please answer me because I have never learned the REAL truth about REAL girls. As you are aware, I was born in a farming family, and I knew all about chicks, those precious little chickens that mama chicken will flog you if they are disturbed.
Then As Junior High Evolved Into 1969
I felt as I had grown, at least in intelligence due to me not failing 1967 and 1968, but there were still lingering questions about girls referred to as "chicks," and I guess the girls didn't mind, so I did not invest that much time in trying to understand. What happens, happens and what doesn't, doesn't. What a safe attitude to have.
I learned more (about life) in the hallways of my high school than I did by hanging-out with buddies who like me, were all about the same things--getting a girlfriend, graduating high school, getting a car and then a good job to pay for it. I would assume that the same things in a high school student's Priority List in almost every high school across the nation. Just the names have changed.
The one NEW thing that I heard in 1969 was from a guy who was one grade ahead of me. He was a wonderful guitarist. He knew his axe from the front to the back. Did you catch that slang name for guitar, AXE? I liked that word. But I did realize that girls are not to be tagged as an axe, not even a battleaxe, if a guy wanted to stay healthy. That is one thing about the girls in my years of high school. They were all pretty for the most part, but they all knew how to hurt a big mouth who disrespected their integrity, friends and parents. So with that experience, I was very nice to the girls that I met.
The guy with the axe, was named Al Wynn, but I should say, the late, Al Wynn, because he drown in the summer of 1973 and the student body, both still in school and those who had just graduated a year ago, felt like someone had taken a knife and cut us to the quick--which means, DEEP. Wynn was the one who used the term, "fox," when he was talking about the girls in our school. One time I asked him why he called them such a name, "fox," and he just laughed and replied, "you mean, haw, haw, you don't know?" That was the last communication I ever had with Wynn. But I had to do a lot of guessing about girls being called "foxes." It was in 1975 when I was watching some silly show on NBC and the show's stars dealt with terms like "foxes," and thanks to their imaginative definition, I was satisfied.
Let Me Be Really Serious
right here. If I were some other writer on a major website like HubPages, I would use every derogatory term used to talk about girls and women, but I am NOT other writers with little or no respect for themselves, much less the female staff of THIS website and the female hubbers and followers that I was blessed with--because I am so old-fashoioned that I could make you laugh. I refuse to allow men's restroom talk some idiotic low-life has written with a Magic Marker to describe the FEMALES here and there in my life.
After all, I have ONE person to sleep with and ONE person to get up each morning and that same ONE person who has to face the mirror . . .ME. And I hate to sound self-righteous, but I am not, I just stay stubborn about saying NO when the temptation comes for me to lower myself to such nasty standards as to down-grade women anywhere. I mean that and I do not apologize.
Two more acceptable names for girls that I heard in my younger days besides "foxes," and "chicks," were "Cats," and some gorgeous girl being "Hot." Even these take on some conotones that might tend to throw ugly ideas toward women who might be reading this.
I am so finished with this hub. Why? Well, I will tell you. Toward the last two paragraphs, I felt my anger start to kindle about (some) guys that I knew in my younger days and their language toward women were no better than the words I heard early in my high school years, so as an excuse, I wrote off their less-than-respectful light of women as their parents not taking time to teach them such an important area of life.
So I am finishing this hub at this minute, but NOT the Respect and Appreciation that once surfaced in my young life and has stayed with me over the years.
This one is for you, ladies. Mostly my mother.
June 11, 2019_________________________________________________
Did You Enjoy Part One Of Talking About Girls’ Names?
Then you are in a lot of luck, if there is such a thing. The following is a creative excerpt that I had in my spirit for days—and I felt that it was time to unburden myself of these thoughts, that if ready slowly, makes a world of sense.
P.S. I do hope that you enjoyed the first part of this theme about how girls’ names can be named for an animal or maybe a state such as Bama Girl and Tennessee Woman. Things like that. And I hope that you will not turn the page because Part 2 is right below this paragraph.
I've Always Loved The Name,
Will The Real Girls Please Stand Up - Conclusion
tracy. This might be the perfect name for girls. Tracy. The name just slides off the tongue. Not all girls and their names ever sync-together. Take the name, Bill Johnny, but don't. Unless (this) girl changed her name from, Anne Taylor, when she was paying her dues in the Contemporary Folk Music world, then look on her and admire her, and with a name like Bill Johnny, she would fit right in with the citizens of New York City. Now as much as in Georgia. If a girl shows up in "this" state, seeped with Old Southern traditions, and is pulled-over by a Geogia State Trooper then he asks to see her license and car registration, she will probably stand still because she has walked this sidewalk before. She is strong, in control, and never cracks a smile.
Meanwhile, the Georgia State Trooper, sitting in his car behind Bill Johnny, he is going nuts because his DMV cannot find a Bill Johnny. They have loads of Bill, John, and a lot of Johnny Bill's, but no Bill Johnny, because now, she is in the wind leaving the Georgia State Trooper scratching his head. He is not that worried. He only has a month before his 25th Retirement Party, and right now, he is craving Southern Fried Chicken, the dish that his wife, Nella, of 27 years, prepares almost-perfect. He smiles a sly smile because he is now off-duty and lives only five miles to his home.
Take the name, Jules Shannon. I love this female-based name. I should have wrote, Julie Shannon, but didn't. I get very lazy between sitting-up at home writing things like this and trying to watch (one of the major) movie networks that has no commercials. Yeah! I also confess that I drink plenty of black coffee as I am producing hubs like this one. I guess somewhere in my jagged imagination that there is going to be that day when, with the help of God, I sit down, sip my coffee once, then spend two and a half hours writing the first thoughts that creep into my imagination and then sell it to Rolling Stone. Yeah!
Now I Am In My 65th Year
and I can tell it from the pains that live in my bones, muscles, and I would say nerve endings, but in 2002, when my appendix ruptured and I was not aware of this, the awful poison saturated my intestines and guts so much that one of my doctors said that I had no nerve endings. My insurance company paid him $355.00 to tell me that! I think that this amount is much like robbery. But since a doctor plasters his office walls with his diploma's from four major medical colleges; two diploma's telling his graduation with B.S. and Ph.D. degrees, I should not get irritated at how today's Medical Neighborhood actually robs people like me. Is it because I look stupid?
By the by, this doc's receptionist, Joyce Langley, 32, divorced, wore no rings, had her blond hair streaked (and she looked cheap) so she and her party friends would always be welcomed at clubs on the downtown area. I have always wondered why, not how, girls with streaked hair can get away with most anything. There is another major mystery for you to solve.
Joyce loved to talk. On her phone, to the patients in the waiting room, and sometimes me. I did not mind that whatsoever because she was not really bothering me, and her fast-chewing of her gum, sounded much like a woodpecker finding breakfast in the wee hours of summer in the Deep South. Joyce, if she ran off from her job, would fit right in with the thick pine forests, woodpeckers, and life in the Deep South. Yeah!
As an interesting side-note, Joyce's voice sounds so much like that of Country Music Queen, the late Tammy Wynette. At first, I thought that she sounded a lot like the late Dottie West, but West's sandpaper voice was too much to contend with. But I am very sorry that Wynette and West are gone from our lives, but both are having a great time in Heaven. I just wonder now, if they still sing up, or over there?
My Finishing Touch – Summary
that I believe said so much to you about Bill Johnny, Tracy, Shannon, and of course, Joyce Langley. Who could forget her? I will share a rumor with you: it has been said that a lot of males have faked terrible sicknesses to just see her at her reception desk.
I can neither confirm or deny this. Maybe forget it altogether.
June 21, 2019__________________________________________________________
© 2019 Kenneth Avery