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by Cathy C. Hall That Southerners are polite is a well-known fact. Not so well known, perhaps, is that we’ll take politeness to extremes, just to prove the point. Hilton Head, South Carolina, is just across the Herman Talmadge Bridge, spanning the Savannah River. Today, Hilton Head is known as a resort area, golf courses and outlet stores covering almost every square mile that’s not beach. But the summer before I started high school, when my family rented a cottage there, Hilton Head was not nearly as developed. One lone plaza, with a grocery store and an ice cream shop, were all that the island had to offer on the social scene. So it was not too surprising to run into folks there. But to find folks we actually knew? No one expected that. There we were at the ice cream shop, me, my three brothers, and Mom and Dad, filling up on double scoop cones. In walked a young teenager that my oldest brother recognized as a schoolmate. The schoolmate’s family followed close behind. So, we all chatted awhile, the parents discussing about where we were renting in relation to where they were renting. No one was really paying much attention. It

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