Southern Suspicions and Tennessee Truths

I returned from Tennessee today with a litany of experiences and a huge batch of criticism from members of the Southern community. I left one week ago for the South with background knowledge that consisted of a mixture of historical facts, rumors, stories, and suspicions. However, despite having a plethora of hearsay in my head, I was determined to experience the South my own way, and in one week I managed to come up with some pretty keen observations.

Southern Suspicion/Tennessee Truth #1: No matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t stump me with the accent. That’s right, I understood every word they said, every colloquialism they uttered, and despite their insistence on using the word “fixin’” to refer to something other than preparing a meal, I got it. At one point, I was even speaking with my brother-in-law’s uncle who grew up “on the river” as they say, as if to warn me that those who grew up there would be harder to understand than your average Southerner, but I followed the conversation to a tee. Southerners beware! Not all Yankees are stumped by your accent.

Southern Suspicion/Tennessee Truth #2: Everything they say about Southern hospitality is true. My brother-in-law’s mother and entire family took us in as if we were one of their own. Everyone was open, friendly and would start a conversation with you even if you were just standing in line. This was tremendous culture shock for me, a Pacific Northwest gal who can barely get her own friends to return her calls. The Northwest is not known for being a kind and cuddly place, and if someone doesn’t know you, they don’t talk to you. It’s just the opposite in the South, which can be refreshing once you stop wondering if someone is casing you for a mugging.

Southern Suspicion/Tennessee Truth #3: In every small town there is a beauty shop just like the one in Steel Magnolias. I visited the one in my sister’s tiny town where her cousin works. There were Southern women doing hair, sitting around talking, and exchanging town gossip. During the few minutes I was there I was expecting a sickly Julia Roberts to appear from the back room, but had to settle for my brother wanting to know when we were going.

Southern Suspicion/Tennessee Truth #4: Memphis is Elvis Country. The face of The King graced most of the little shops and restaurants we visited on Beale Street. Although my whiny toddler made it impossible for us to tour Graceland, I did feel like I was in the heart of Presley worship. As one of the two dead celebrities I would have sex with if they were living (the other being Jim Morrison), the idolatry of Elvis is a plus for me. I adore that sexy, smoldering face, and I enjoyed looking at it while I regretted ordering my fattening meal at the Blues City Café, which leads me to my next truth.

Southern Suspicion/Tennessee Truth #5: Southern food is really as good as they say it is. I spent the entire week sweating, not from working out, but from stressing about every meal. These folks don’t eat light, and the things they make from scratch are the stuff dreams are made of…fat, caloric, ass-widening dreams. The signature dish during the holidays is called hen and dressing, which is basically shredded chicken in a stuffing casserole. It’s yummy. Thankfully, my brother-in-law’s mother is one of the most considerate people in the world, recognized that I was watching my points, and made a couple of Weight Watchers recipes.

A few other things I learned about my journey to the South were that smoking is still legal and acceptable there. At the little, mom ‘n’ pop restaurant we ended up eating at, there was a smoking and non-smoking section, which is something I haven’t seen in the Northwest since the mid-90s. The best part about this place, where the words “egg substitute” are as foreign as speaking Chinese, is that once the waitresses finished serving you your meal, they would sit at a corner table and have a collective smoke amid the stuffed ducks that served as wall decor.

Lastly, the biggest lesson I’ve learned about the South, is they take themselves way too seriously, and have a whaling inferiority complex. Listen up America; unless you are from the South, you cannot criticize, make an observation, or comment in any way, shape or form about the South. Remember when black people made it official that they were the only ones who could use the “N word”? Well, I’m here to let you know that it is official, only Southerners can talk about the South. Very, very lame, but apparently a truth I was not aware of until my last post, which made me as hated in the South as a gay mulatto.