Buthter

The last item on yesterday's word-verification list was "retsub," which happens to be "Buster" spelled backwards. Every time I hear that name, I'm reminded of a three-year-old girl who was our neighbor in Georgia in the early 1970s.  Her name was Shannon.

Shannon was the middle of three children, the one sometimes pushed into the background by the bright chattiness of her older sister and the constant needs of her baby brother. She was about to start pre-school, and her mother was worried that she would feel alone and afraid in a new place, among so many children she didn't know. It turned out there was no need for concern.

At the end of the first half-day session, the teacher reported that Shannon had taken care of herself very well.  When a little boy showed interest in Shannon's dessert, she scooted a couple of feet away from him, looked him pointedly in the eye, and said, "You ain't a-gittin' none o' mah pah, buthter."

We were new to Georgia then, still fascinated by the cadence of the accent, and when my daughters and I heard that story, we repeated Shannon's declaration over and over to each other. It eventually became a catch-phrase in our family.

Shannon would be about 43 years old now. I wonder if she's still in Georgia and if she has little ones of her own. I wonder if it would make her smile to know that three women in Louisiana still remember her fondly and still quote her words sometimes when the issue of sharing arises.