This time a few weeks ago, I was attending the world’s largest family reunion. You were invited, too, though you may not have gone. Invited, that is, if you bleed red and black and part of your DNA is bulldog, if Kirby Smart is your Daddy (looking at you, Nicky) and Athens on a Saturday is a place you call home. THAT family reunion.
Sitting in Sanford Stadium on metal bleachers as cold as the tip of an iceberg and being surrounded by like minded people clad in the most lovely shade of red celebrating the National Championship after years and years of trying was nothing short of a spiritual service. Being in a stadium with no fans of any opposing team but full up of your very own brethren was enough to leave you sort of breathless and giddy and just full up yourself. The Battle Hymn of the Republic followed by Grandpa Larry’s booming voice made of silk left chill bumps and wet eyes on everybody. I don’t think a soul there sat unaffected. Smells of hot chocolate and screwdrivers combined and were wafted around by swooshing pom poms. The family all called the Dogs and this time, this time- oh, it sort of felt like a prayer of thanksgiving as we could all finally say WE were the champions. Sort of like the Lord’s Prayer for the Bulldog Nation…we waited a looooong time on it, Glory, Glory be to God!
The last time it could be said, I was swimming around on a leash, a new Bulldog being knit up in my Mama’s belly. Georgia born and Georgia bred, Georgia Bulldog ’til I’m dead, ya know? And by golly, 41 years and some change later, here we are. It was about time for that family reunion, a long time coming. There was no fussing at this family reunion; the Druncles were embraced and the kids didn’t have to sit at the kids table. We didn’t have to have matching t-shirts, though a lot of the garb had a similar looking family crest that read “National Champions 2021” encircled by a dog collar and an Indy skyline. But we didn’t need any of that to know we were family- we just could look at each other and know. “You’re a Dawg and you’re a Dawg and YOU’RE a Dawg…” That gleam in the eye- we fam y’all.
After the reunion was over, nobody wanted to go home. We couldn’t stay at Sanford’s house, so we scooted over to the downtown, where most of our Druncles roost. If you know, you know. THE DOWNTOWN, mecca of all tomfoolery and cute clothes and fine edibles, the lights are much brighter there; you forget all your troubles, forget all your cares… (How many of y’all have sung that off key in the back of a taxi before Uber was invented on a dark, late night? If you have, we’re family. We’re the fun cousins,by golly and we are not old. At least in our minds. Our wrinkle creams and livers say otherwise.)
As my girls and I celebrated by shopping and the fellas of mine were in hot pursuit of a jersey and a good time, I had to make a quick pit stop at a watering hole. I had the girls wait outside as they were not of age, but don’t pity them because they are young and their bladders are in much better shape than mine. The cute little hostess just let me right on in and didn’t ask for my ID because, duh, we’re family, and it had nothing to do with my crinkles. While exiting the men’s bathroom (ladies, I ain’t got time to wait on y’all’s mile long line and you and your cute wrinkle free selves will understand what Aunt Betsy means one day), mine eyes fell upon one Georgia son of ours. The one they call the Mail Man. Well y’all, I can’t leave a stone unturned or a letter undelivered, and I just marched up like the Auntie Betsy I was and told Stetson my 8 year old son was just crazy about him. I’m not real sure that his adorable girlfriend liked this Auntie, but I just couldn’t help myself. This was a family reunion, honey! 40+ years in the making! I resisted the urge to pinch his cheeks, and asked if I could take a selfie with him. (I invited his lady to get in with us, but again, she wasn’t a fan. I’ll have to have her talk to JB and the rest of the Widespread Panic peoples about my visit with them at DePalma’s to show her I show no favoritism in whom I bother at dinner…)
And so, in all the Glory, Glory of the day, I snapped a photo with our QB.
Right there, in my red sweater with sheep all over it, except for one black one that you can’t see. The irony…
I’d be totally cool with another family reunion same time, same place next year. Y’all are invited, too, ’cause fam. If I’m a betting woman, we will have a few new Bulldogs, too- aptly named a beautiful name like Kelee or Ringo. We welcome them all to the family.
Aunt Betsy will be there, good Lord willing…the black sheep of the family…the one who instead of bleating, barks. And if you are famous or semi famous or rocketing that way, be prepared for a selfie with your Auntie, ’cause that’s what family does!
Go Dawgs!
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