I’ve done so since I was very young. There was this chunk of tile — one of a number of irregularly-shaped pieces embedded into the ground as stepping stones leading to the back steps of my grandparents’ house in Bennettsville — that I thought had special, mystical significance when I was a small boy. It was shaped just like South Carolina.
Our state not only has the most beautiful flag (even it if is a bit over-evoked these days), but it possesses the most perfect shape. In fact, I can’t think of any other state that has a shape that is even mildly appealing (and Florida, as we all know, looks like a flaccid you-know-what). Our triangle is made even more perfect by the fact that it is slightly irregular — it’s not a mathematical triangle, which would seem cold and abstract. It’s formed by the natural confluence of the Savannah River and the Atlantic coastline. Its third line is a sort of hat worn at a rakish angle.
I could get really mysterious and Dan Brownish and talk about the delta of Venus and such, but it’s just a perfect, natural shape, immediately appealing to the unjaded eye.
And even at my age, I still see it everywhere. Such as in this drop of water on the faucet in the upstairs restroom at ADCO. OK, it’s a bit stylized, and the top has a bit of a cowlick, but when God was designing the natural laws governing water’s surface tension, he obviously intended that someday, it would pull a seemingly random drop into something approximating the shape of his favorite state. And I was there when it happened. Because He made me to be the sort to pick up on stuff like that.