I love when a conversation turns Southern.
My day job recently had me in our nation’s capitol for a conference. These events are catnip to me. My extroversion explodes. Meeting new people, making connections, networking and engaging in conversations energizes me.
About 700-800 people, give or take, attended this conference, and I knew only a handful of folks prior to the event. Attendees hailed from all over the country, but the best and deepest conversations I had came with members of the Georgia delegation.
I was able to reconnect with a former work colleague and delve into the intricacies of the World Cup. Back when we worked together, I had failed to fully appreciate the beautiful game, and we had never had a meaningful conversation about football. Because he’s a Brit, the depth of his knowledge and fandom far exceeded mine. I was able to hold my own, though, on account he is a Liverpool supporter, like my friends Brian and Bob. I myself am Liverpool adjacent, if you must know.
But it wasn’t until later that evening over dinner when my social battery hit 100%. That’s because the conversation with two colleagues from a sister state education agency turned Southern.
If you had asked me even an hour before that dinner, I wouldn’t have been able to articulate this about myself, but that dinner conversation with casual acquaintances revealed to me the depth of my enjoyment of a good, Southern conversation. Being able to say unironically “bless her heart” and quote the ingredients of pear salad brought me such unspeakable joy.
Beauty parlors, Southern writers, funeral food, music, beaches, dogs, kids sports, local crime-related gossip, mailboxes and sorority hijinks became a tasty conversation gumbo. Appreciating regional peculiarities was the roux, storytelling was the shrimp and crawfish and the delightful knowing was the spice. By the end, we had bonded over our Southerness, both native and transplant.
Why am I like this? (That is a question my Darling Beloved asks about many facets of my nature.) Upon further reflection I have surfaced several plausible explanations, and I wonder if you relate to any of them:
Recognition that something is a thing. Nowadays we have social media to endlessly serve us content about the South that makes us laugh and nod in relatability. But there is no substitute for hearing someone describe something that deep down you know, even if you haven’t experienced it firsthand. Like my recent conversation in D.C. I am not a frequenter of beauty shops, but there are certain activities and characteristics of that experience that resonate in my bones. It is a place where information is shared, like Wednesday night prayer meeting at the church. I don’t have to get my hair done to know that knowledge transfer happens in that setting. I recognize that it’s a thing. I have also seen “Steel Magnolias,” both the play and the film. The moment of recognition is thrilling.
Authentic accents beguile me. Truth is, all accents are interesting to me. I have an ear for them. I’m not good at mimicry, and I can’t do many of them justice. But I do like to hear them. There are many nuances of Southern dialect that it’s fun to hear one and try to place it. My favorite is the euphemistic sesquipedalian whose speech is flavored with a Southern dialect. From Atticus Finch to Julia Sugarbaker to Boyd Crowder, I aspire to such grandiloquence. If you are blessed to possess a robust vocabulary and a Southern accent, I will listen to you. There’s a reason “Oh Brother Where Art Thou?” is on regular rotation in my cinematic home viewing.
Stories rooted in place are sticky. Whether I have been to your town or not, when you tell me about the ways your home is unique, I’m enthralled. There are Southern small town cliches, to be sure, but I find your town’s twists on those tropes endlessly fascinating. Such as, what is your high school football team’s mascot? What is your local festival? Who is the high society family in your town and how did they get their money? Where in your town do all the scandals take place, city hall, the Baptist church, the school board or the honky tonk outside of town? Sharing these characteristics of your town will hold my attention every time.
Discovery breeds curiosity. Once Southern bona fides have been established, the sharing of favorite musicians, writers, TV shows, movies and vacation destinations makes me delirious with delight. If I’m having this kind of conversation with you, and I pull out my telephone, I’m not being rude. I am capturing these recommendations on my Notes app. And I will follow up. I also may or may not inundate you with my own recommendations, including a highly successful, internationally renown website opining on contemporary Southern culture.
People are interesting. Once upon a time I was a reporter who asked people questions for a living. If given half a chance, I will revert to my previous vocation and subject people I know well or even near strangers to deep interrogations. No longer am I trying to get at the salacious details to land on page one. Now I’m just genuinely interested in the human condition. It is the best source of ideas for my pursuit of Southern fiction.
I’ve reached the stage of my life where I’m beginning to know myself. I know I like to talk with folks. When those conversations turn Southern, it lifts my spirits.
So, thank you, Miki, Christy and MJ, for the gift of a conversation rooted in Southerness. That one chat continues to blossom with intriguing ideas, all Southern, in the best ways.
New South Essays 