Dancing with the Girl Who Brung Ya: Clinging to Civility When the Culture Demands Otherwise
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"Dance with the girl that brung ya." Summer 1982. I am on my family's ranch, sitting behind the wheel of a 1965 Ford F-100 pickup. I am 15. Marshall, our ranchman, sits beside me. He is teaching me to drive. The shift is four-on-the-floor,and the clutch is sticky, and I stall every time I try to get from first to second. We are hitching and jerking along the dirt road, and I am frustrated.
Dancing with the Girl Who Brung Ya: Clinging to Civility When the Culture Demands Otherwise
Dancing with the Girl Who Brung Ya: Clinging…
Dancing with the Girl Who Brung Ya: Clinging to Civility When the Culture Demands Otherwise
"Dance with the girl that brung ya." Summer 1982. I am on my family's ranch, sitting behind the wheel of a 1965 Ford F-100 pickup. I am 15. Marshall, our ranchman, sits beside me. He is teaching me to drive. The shift is four-on-the-floor,and the clutch is sticky, and I stall every time I try to get from first to second. We are hitching and jerking along the dirt road, and I am frustrated.