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A Yankee with a heart in Dixie by Sandra Still The folks of Johnston County poured Southern into me until it seeped deep and stayed. Arriving in North Carolina 10 years back, I had the good fortune to land a teaching job in Kenly. There, my education in Southern living began by learning the art of hugging. As a typical Yankee, my idea of showing emotion consisted of a peck on the cheek of dear relatives. It wasn't too long before I realized the spontaneous "Southern hug" was from-the-heart genuine. It meant we love you, respect you and accept you. in good grace, and I kept on a-tryin.' I learned to "cut off the lights," "carry someone to the store" and use "you all" properly. One memorable day, I got off the phone after talking to a parent and the school secretary beamingly said, "My goodness, Sandra, you sound like a Johnstonian born and bred." Well, I really don't yet, but it sure made me feel good knowing I was on my way. In Kenly, at the local bank the tellers always wanted to know how the last school theater production went, and what was I planning next. No rush; let's chat. I "carried" student performers to real Southern town festivals - Railroad Days, Acorn Festival and Ham and Yam. Clogging teams and country dancers sweated in the sun. Sweet tea slid down my throat. I gained weight on chicken pastry, collard greens and Brunswick stew. A student invited me to her birthday, and I got hooked on that most Southern of festivities - the pig pickin'. For outsiders, there's that initial shock of viewing hooves, tails and snouts along with succulent ham and tenderloin, but one adapts. Pass the vinegar, please! Most importantly, I learned the other side of things. A nonsmoker, I gained a deep appreciation for teens who worked hard in school and then went home to work harder until dusk "workin' the tobacco." If ever you lose faith in the next generation, head to the rural areas and try to keep up with those farm kids! Tobacco pays the bills; cotton can drain the soil so you have to plan right (at the sight of my first pickin' ready cotton field, I had to stop the car and just gaze in delight. ) Further, I learned about working with black people as respected colleagues and capable students. And oh yes - magnolias smell sweeter than the best lemons, and hot sun on pine straw smells like heaven. Soon, I leave for vacation in Yankee land. It'll be good to see kinfolk, but the tea will be bitter, the air will smell like Chicago smog and no mockingbirds will sing. The streets of my hometown are jarringly "white." I must remember to be careful about looking strangers in the eye, accompanied by a big Southern smile. My dad will tease me - "You don't talk right anymore." My mom will practically swoon when I automatically say "Yes, ma'am." If someone plays "Dixie" my eyes will probably tear up like they did the last time. We'll request that the disc jockey play Charlie Daniels' "The South's Gonna Do It Again" and show those Yanks how to dance Southern country swing! Is it time to head "back south" yet? Guess I'm hopelessly Southern to the bone! |
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