Jazz 'Bout Georgia Tags

Today, I made a phone call that went something like this:

Hey, Dad.  I got a favor to ask of ye.

Alright, what is it?

Next time you go to a Georgia game, I'd like one or two of them flags to go on the truck...

I've been a Georgia Bulldog fan since my dad introduced me to it years ago.  It may even be accurate to say that I like the Bulldogs because Daddy does.  It was something we could share an interest in, and even though I'm not one to watch it on TV or really get into the game itself, I like it that way.  I love the competitiveness of it, though.

Today, I saw about four or five Georgia liscense plates.  Drew says I parked in one of the worst parking spots available at the Wal*Mart, just so I could park next to a Georgia car.  I considered getting sticky notes so I could say "hi" to my fellow Georgians without necessarily being there.  Drew thinks I'm crazy.  Maybe I am.  I suppose it would be safe to say that state pride runs deep in me, even if I'm happy almost anywhere else. 

I don't suppose one would think that their home-state could have a "scent"...at least not unless it happened to be overrun with skunks.  But mine does.  I know what Georgia smells like.  A faint mix of trees, ozone, dirt... southern-woodsy with the smell of a creek running through it too...

That's where home was, and it's where home away from home will always be.