I miss hearing about sheep. It’s weird, because I absolutely hate Sheep and everything they stand for. I mean seriously, there is no dumber animal on earth than a sheep. But today, as I was driving to the library where I sit at this very moment, I realized that I miss the sheep talk. Granted, once I hear my dad talk about talking to his cows and feeding the sheep, I’m going to tune it out and go back to playing on my phone, but these days my mind is so full and my days are so busy that I sort of miss that simple life.
Here in Nampa, Idaho, people talk country, but most of them aren’t actually farm kids. I have never been “ma’amed” as often as I have here in Nampa. I mean, for real. I’m almost thirty and up until moving to Nampa a few weeks ago, I was only “ma’amed” a handful of times. I know this because when it’s happened in the past, I’ve been in shock, unsure if I had a gray hair popping out or if it was just a mistake.
Cut to my current place in Nampa, Idaho. My students don’t call me my name, which to them is “Miss Bunn.” Instead, they call me, “Ma’am,” or “Miss.” The other day I got sort of sassy about this. “This isn’t the south. My name is Ms. Bunn,” but this didn’t change their behavior. I talked to one of my colleagues about it and she said, “It’s just the dialect here.” Hmph.
Here’s how I see it.
Nampa, Idaho: South of Awesome.