The White 10 Gallon

When I first met the lost sailor he was wearing a 10 Gallon Hat. Not just any 10 Gallon Hat, this one happened to be white. Kind of like a light house on shore if you ask me. Now I was intrigued, my native Texas roots where suddenly awakened, I was all aflutter.  You can take the girl out of Texas but you can't take the Texas out of the girl. So to make him even more intriguing, he had a slide guitar and some really, really  beautiful boots. The thing that gave him away was...he opened his mouth . My,Oh my god a real live cowboy on the North Shore,my dreams have come true moment was... dashed. This wave of words came at me, the speed of sound quickened and hit my brain like a crashing swell. I think I may have shaken my head in utter disbelief, this dude was a Yankee. Not just any Yankee but a Bostonian Yankee.
Now,  I have had the great fortune to have the best of both worlds, a meeting of North and South like you read about. Mama was from big D little a L.L.A.S. and Dad from Minneapolis. While living in the Minnesota the kids would come over to my house and say "Make your Mama talk"  her voice was as sweet as Shoo Fly pie and as smooth as the molasses in it. Dad on the other hand, his accent was pretty non descript, his Father had rubbed off on him. My Grandfather was a sports writer for The Minneapolis Tribune and would occasionally moonlight as a sportscaster for the Minnesota Twins. He wasn't devoid of accent but pretty damn close. When we moved to New England, I was tortured by the kids when I said "soda pop" for "tonic", and in turn I held them in disdain for " tuner sandwich" and "mucha wicked".
When I ended up in Texas again it was'nt long before I found my drawl and it was as comforting as a hug. I digress, after a few inbred Sea"Brookers" tried to kill my sailing cowboy because of his Hat; It was taken under advisement to only bring out said hat after crossing the Mason Dixon line. Alas, The "Beacon" was left on top of the trusty steed and blew away somewhere in Virginia.( His doing not mine,thank God , he loved that hat!) To truly appreciate the Bostonian accent say the letters P S T S................Quickly PSTS
 In Boston that's pierced ears.....
Many moons and miles have passed and I have come to find great joy in listening to the vernacular of a particular place and time. But more importantly, I have come to truly appreciate what the sailing cowboy say's, the timber of his voice, the lilt, the teasing inside that voice of his. Come to think of it , I may have to ask him to say Tuna.