I hadn’t thought of GRIT in years until seeing this thread. When I was 11 years old, my Dad, who himself had sold GRIT when he was a boy, got me to sign up to sell them. I went door to door in our neighborhood, and as I recall, was able to sell a few. One of the houses I went to had some boys close to my age. After trying unsuccessfully to get their mom to buy GRIT, as I was walking away, one of the boys yelled out, “Kiss my grits!â€, with lots of laughter ensuing from inside the house. (Anyone who watched TV much in the late 70s would have been familiar with the very popular phrase from that era). My career as a paperboy for GRIT pretty much ended that day. At school, the same boy would yell, “Kiss my grits!†at me sometimes, which would always elicit roars of laughter from his friends. I was already being picked on regularly at school because I was the new kid in town, my Dad was a holy roller preacher, and I was chubby and not very good at sports. That town was about the only town I ever recall being quite happy to move away from, when we did move a couple of years later. We moved, on average, every two years while I was growing up.
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