You okay, Daybo?
I have been hearing that for years. From my father. From my mother. From my wonderful grandfathers. For years I have heard family members say that: You okay, Daybo?
It began with my brother. He had a Disney toy – a Jack-in-the-box sort of toy – with Dumbo as a Jack.
(Ironically, my brother’s name is Jack.)
Anyway, any day, this toy had a little bit of a malfunction. My big brother, the big ball-buster that he is would crank & crank this little toy to the point of despair, and Dumbo would not jump out of his little box.
Naturally, my big brother being the little boy that he was at the time, would ask, “You okay, Daybo?”
It’s 4:49 on a Wednesday morning, and that that is the shit I am thinking about.
I was going to write a column on Souther & Northern dialect… instead, I would rather think about my brother, a little boy, looking at his little toy Disney Jack-in-the-box.
Language & the memories they can bring between people & animals & memories are immense & wonderous.