My Introduction To Southern Culture

Just so nobody gets the wrong idea; I want to set the record straight. I love southern people. To me, they are the most genuinely friendly people in this country. They live simple lives, pull their own weight and are generally happy. Southern culture is truly part of Americana.

But, by God, it does take some getting used to.......

With that being said, I would like to illustrate how I was introduced to southern culture. You see, my father was born and raised in the city of Winston-Salem, NC. (Yes, this is where the name of the cigarettes came from). My dad and his sister eventually moved up to Maryland but the rest of his family remained in North Carolina. So, growing up, we would often go down to visit them.

To say that it was a culture shock would probably be any understatement. Honestly, this was like a different world to me. For instance, the vocabulary is something that took me a while to grasp. One time I asked where the bathroom was, and one of my aunts replied, “It’s over yonder.” First of all, I had no idea what “yonder” meant and I was afraid to ask. And secondly, she was pointing out the window!

So, my young mind began to race and I explained that I had no clue what she just said. My aunt then smiled and said, “I recken y’all don’t have outhouses in the city, huh?” At this point, not only was I confused, but scared too! Did she just say outhouse? She’s got to be joking, right? To my horror, she wasn’t!

So, I decided that I would not go the bathroom for the entire weekend. If this meant not eating or drinking, so be it. I would prefer to deal with the hunger rather than find out what’s behind the mystery door of the outhouse!

Well, dinner time came around, and after skipping lunch, I was a bit hungry. So, I sat down with the rest of the family at the dinner table. There was plenty of food but I really didn’t recognize much of it. There was something called collard greens (or collards). In another bowl was something called okra. And the only bread was this heavy dry stuff called cornbread. But what really blew my mind were the fried pork brains. I couldn’t believe that they were really going to eat these. At this point, I realized that not eating for the whole weekend might be as bad as I thought!

Later that evening, I asked if I could have a soda. With a confused look on her face, my aunt left and returned with a box of Arm & Hammer baking soda. When I explained that I was looking for a Coke or a Pepsi, she said, “Oh, you want a pop.” I was really starting to doubt that I would make it through the weekend.

It was during this time, that I was trying to keep track of everyone’s name. I was used to normal names like John, Jim, Mary, Sue, etc. So, when I started hearing names like Myrtle, Alvin, Patsi and Jim-Bob, it threw me for a loop. I also had an uncle named Cotton. And I think it’s an unwritten rule that every family must refer to one of their kids as Junior.

Upon visiting one of my uncle’s homes, I got to hang out with my cousins and some of the other local kids. At one point, I noticed a really cute girl. Although I was only eight years old, I figured I could impress her with my charm and sophistication. So, I proceeded to tell her all about my cool Huffy bike and baseball card collection. Instead of responding, she reaches down and grabs a Styrofoam cup and spits into it! And not only was it just spit, it was this nasty looking brown spit. I was speechless! She might as well have turned into Medusa and sprouted snakes from her head!

I immediately ran over to one of my cousins and said, “Did you see what that girl just did? She spit out a bunch of brown crap into a cup!” My cousin just smiled and reached into his back pocket and pulled out a “pouch” of something called Red Man and said, “Here, you wanna chew?”

At this point, I was waiting for the banjo-playing kid from Deliverance to drop out of the sky! I ran into the house and told my parents, “Please take me back to the city. I'm scared!!”

I managed to survive the weekend, and went back for many more visits over my childhood. Eventually, I adapted to their culture and learned to deal with it. I found out that these people were exactly what John Denver was talking about in his song “Thank God I’m A Country Boy”.

Ironically, after my initial exposure to southern culture, I respect these people more than anyone. Most southern folks would give you the shirt off of their back and expect nothing in return. There’s something to be said for that……


KW