My South
For those who ain’t from here, they don’t understand that the South isn’t just a particular region near the Gulf of America. It’s a way of life that is genuine to the bone. In other words, it’s deep in our Southern Soul.
In life, we often rely on our favorite 3 F’s: Faith, Family and Friends in that order. We live where our tea is sweet, our cornbread’s not, everything’s fried, and we will casserole you to death. In other words: My South. Naturally, millions of other lucky souls claim it just like me.
Yes, we accept and adopt friends from Ohio, Maine, and Pennsylvania who might have finally seen the light. Class, character, caring and closeness isn’t reserved for a particular region.
However, let me tell you about My South:
It’s where everyone has double names, especially if Mama is mad at you. It’s MiMi and Papa sitting in the bleachers under blankets, freezing to death since their grandson wants them at his game. Nothing is more important. These same grandparents treat the entire team to whatever they want after the game at the concession stand. “Whatever you want” (since the sugar-hyped youngsters will be going home with their parents.) That’s My South.
It’s helping neighbors in need. Cutting the new widow’s yard without being asked. It’s chain saws, wheelbarrows, tractors, dump trucks, trailers and enough food to feed the entire community, hours after a tornado hits. It’s refusing pay of any kind for these services. Where youngsters know how to use jumper cables before they learn their multiplication tables. It’s including a kid with Down ‘s Syndrome as part of the team, even making him an honorary captain. It’s seeing past skin color, family structure, bank accounts or physical looks. That’s My South.
It’s kids saying yes sir, no ma’am, please and thank you without being prompted. It’s standing for the National Anthem and stopping for a funeral procession, even for strangers. It’s reminding a male who forgot to remove his hat before the words “Oh Say Can You See” are out of the singer’s throat. It’s having the guilty party apologize and thank you for alerting him as soon as “Home of the Brave” has been finished. It’s reminding them of family members, like my Dad and friends who risked their lives for our freedom. That’s My South.
It’s gathering with childhood friends, once a year, and picking up like you were just together last weekend. It’s driving hours to be there for a friend’s surgery with the simple explanation: “You would have been there for me.” It’s visiting behind closed doors with a friend going through addiction issues and reassuring him that “You got this whipped cause God, and I believe in you.” It’s including others, going through health challenges you barely know on your prayer list and actually praying for them even if the prayer begins with: “Lord, I’m not good at this, but…” That’s My South.
It’s retelling the same old stories for the 237th time and laughing like this was the very first time. It’s understanding that these stories form a bond among friends, even if you are the brunt of the joke. It could be about a blind date, running out of gas, a prank gone wrong or a bad haircut. It’s holding your breath as soon as someone asks: “do you remember that time…?” That’s My South.
It’s swelling with pride when the name of your school or community is brought up when you are in a different part of the state. Yes, it’s remembering the special times, the special teams, the special places but mostly the special people who helped build your foundation. It’s finally telling those special people in your life what they mean to you before it’s too late. You might think it’s small but to them, it’s stronger than 40 acres of garlic. It’s getting a little nostalgic and misty-eyed when you realize that your town can never be the same. That doesn’t keep us from dreaming that it could though. Empty buildings aren’t the same as empty memories. That’s My South.
It’s checking your blended family ego at the door when it comes to weddings, funerals, graduations and birthdays. This means acting as the adult in the room instead of being petty about things that don’t really matter. It’s stepping up with your bonus children and loving them like they are your own because they really ARE. It’s going the extra mile, regardless of your faults, to set an example for the next generation. It’s listening instead of hearing and having vision instead of sight. That’s My South.
It’s sealing a deal with a handshake and understanding that a man is only as good as his word. If he says he will do something, he will do it. It’s remembering lessons learned years ago from a mentor who stated: “There are two things I can’t stand: a liar and a thief.” It’s giving 100% to every task without cutting corners. It’s not making excuses. If it happens, it’s admitting that you were wrong. It’s understanding that being nice is not the same as being weak. It’s knowing that you will never accept the silver medal as long as the gold is still available. That’s My South.
I hope that other areas of this great land will take the same type of pride in their region as we do Down Here. When they do, it will be a thing of beauty.
In the meantime, if they want to experience ADIP (Another Day In Paradise), invite them to experience our way of living.
In My South.