The View from Here: I now appreciate Southern traditions
Since moving here from a scant 350 miles away four years ago, I didn’t think I would change much. But after recognizing that whiney-sounding accent I could never hear before during a recent trip – to Missouri, no less – it seems things have changed quite a bit.
I can recall my job interview here and going out to a local restaurant after it was over. The waitress told us she was from Chicago, but you wouldn’t have known it. She smiled and warned us we’d be talking the same way. “That will never happen,” I thought.
Four years later – it’s a far cry from native – but I’ve learned a slight Southern twang well enough that if don’t speak for long enough, people can’t tell I’m not from around here.
I learned there is a certain amount of pride associated with being born and raised here and I’m reluctant to explain my parents’ last names would be unfamiliar.
The slight change in expression is easy to notice after such an explanation and some people aren’t even that kind.
Anyway, I knew my language and accent would never fit in as they were, even with two years of living in Texas under my belt. And for as much as I resisted it, it crept in, slowly but surely. The waitress was right.
However, the new language is difficult to explain when I visit my native Midwest, which is much more than 350 miles away. There, I don’t sound like the same person they used to know. I’m somehow between parts of the country in an inexplicable twist on language and speech.
As far as other changes, I knew I made some progress when I finally stopped asking our style page editor for directions, which was another dead give-away for being “non-local.”
Early on, I figured out asking for directions here was like wearing a giant sign on your forehead that read, “I’m not from around here.” And I got some tips. I asked internally and have learned how to give and take directions from a true southerner.
Also, someone was good enough to warn me when we first moved, via a joke e-mail, that I would have to learn the locations of curves, trees, hills and rocks if I needed to know how to get somewhere.
Now, I always smile when someone tells me about the old Red Dog that doesn’t exist anymore or starts to tell me to go up a big hill, down the hill and around the curve to get to where they need me to be. I’ve caught myself talking curves and hills the same way.
I’ve learned the value of the words “y’all,” “fixing to” and “ain’t.” Those words, once taboo to me, aren’t so bad anymore if spoken. It’s just a part of life that I’ve come to accept.
Another little tidbit I’ve picked up on is the office gossip. I can remember my husband, who worked in an office full of women, used to tell me that as soon as one got up, the rest would start talking about her. That probably happens everywhere.
But the unusual thing is, my husband used to mention the term “bless her heart” within the context of the conversation. He noticed it appeared you could say the worst things about people, but keep those horrible utterings in check with a “bless her/his heart. It would go something like this: “That girl is so ugly, bless her heart.”
For someone who couldn’t sit still four years ago, I’ve learned to accept these changes. I’m not trying to change a thing, except that I really don’t like that people don’t appreciate what they have.
I forgot to pause for a lady stepping out of a bank in front of my car the other day. She glared at me. I see people all the time who don’t know the beauty of this place or the bright spot in their own lives.
(Amy Satterwhite is a reporter for the Standard. She can be reached at 473-2191 or by e-mail at standard@blomand.net.)