My mother did not force my brothers & I to eat grits or cream of wheat, as we preferred Malt o Meal--chocolate flavor was best--but she & I certainly cooked it for Daddy.

Yew'unz thet love grits may enjoy this tidbit.

Years back, when I performed at military posts/bases, I gone out in the field-guitar in hand-with the chaplain for an early Sunday morning church service for some troops who were in basic training, afterwhich he took me to the mess for breakfast. The chaplain & I were both from Oklahoma, & had a difficult time keeping a straight face as we listened to a group of trainees sitting nearby.
Some trainees who were from the northern USA asked outloud "what IS this stuff?" referring to the grits in one segment of the mess hall food tray.   
A trainee who sounded as though he was from 'Bama (or thereabouts) answered, "Why, thems grits."
"Grits? What's grits?" the northern trainees asked.
"Grits," explained the young'un from 'Bama, is quite a Southern delicacy. Now, these here grits are just ordinary, little bitty grits, and right plain the way the mess Sarge fixes 'em. Now you just crumble up your bacon into it & add some salt & pepper," he said as he doctored up the mess hall grits, "and they ain't too bad."
"Well, where do grits come from?"
"Well, boys, they grow em in the deep South. Now these here are puny little bitty thangs-no self respecting Southern cook would ever serve such grits as these. Now, my Daddy grows grits on our farm back home in 'Bama, & they's right big grits. In fact, we're always winnin' the prizes at the fairs for the biggest grits grown anywhere! Why, my Daddy & I grows 'em so big that some years they's pert near 's big 's basketballs!!"
The Northern trainees bought every word of it as the Chaplain & I attempted to maintain our composure.