The birth of an antebellum man

There is a mystery, in this place I love. It begs an answer to several questions. Somewhere below the Mason-Dixon, flowing on the sweet tannic stained rivers, below the century old majestic oaks, hidden in the hectares of cotton, surrounded by the Blue Ridge mountains and kissed gently by the Atlantic Ocean, is the lost cause of being a true Southern Gentleman. Not for the prestige and not for the accolades of others, just simply my dears, because it is and always has been since the days before we became obsessed with such matters that do not matter, the right way to be. This collection of words and framing of thoughts, is to document and verify the fact that us true to the lost ways in these trying times, are not a dying breed and that the traditions and gestures of those long before us, should never be forgotten. These traditions and ghosts in our souls, were passed down from the men who made us men and the mothers, sisters, aunts and wives who loved us for being them. This is the birth of an antebellum man!