Southern Hospitality

This past weekend, I attended a series of readings for pms (a literary journal produced by U.A.B. that is an acronym for poem memoir story). Dr. Alison Chapman was one of the readers, and she read from a piece about her work teaching in Donaldson Correctional Facility, a maximum security prison in Alabama. While the entire essay was of great interest, the point of interest that lead to a discussion between another colleague and myself was this: Are Southern women ,in particular, torn between honest expression and the need to placate, please or be polite to others?

In short, are we more likely to keep our mouths shut? Do you tell your friend she looks huge in a particular dress when she asks, or do you say, "No, of course not, you're always beautiful"? While no friend, colleague or stranger likes these kinds of confrontations, it seems that Southerner women, especially, have trouble with the concept of expressing what they're really thinking.

This is also a conversation I've had many times before, especially with Northern transplants to the South. "Is everyone always this polite?" "Will someone stare if I want to talk about something other than tea sandwiches at the luncheon?" "Does anyone ever say anything negative about anyone?" "And what is this 'bless her heart'' stuff?"

And here's how I explain it: While Southern women may have been raised with a lot of decorum and a lot manners, we're also raised with a fair amount of sass, and we're not idiots.

If you invite me to your house and you might have accidentally shit on the floor just before my arrival (not that this has ever happened, mind you, but I like an extreme example every once in awhile), I will do everything in my power to pretend that I do not notice or smell the crap in the corner.

My most likely response? "Maybe I'll get the tour later. Want to grab your bag and head out for lunch?"

Surely, this was not something you meant to do, and there is no need for me to draw attention to something that is clearly embarrassing and upsetting to you. Anyone and everyone in entitled to their own human dignity, and when, pardon the terrible pun, shit happens, there's no need to make anyone feel worse than they already do.

If, however, you invite me over to your house, shit on the floor, and then expect me to walk over to that corner with you and tell you it smells like roses, we have a problem. Manners is one thing. Delusion is another.

I can overlook to a certain degree, but I will not lie. And I'll agree not to discuss certain hot-button topics -- God, sex, politics -- in public, out of respect for others' opinion and general cordiality, but if you keep picking, be prepared.

Most of the time, this isn't a problem. After all, I do live in the South, so everyone else pretty much goes by the same rules. Unfortunately though, you might also see how my take on my role as a Southern female has gotten me into more than a few tight spots at work.

Certain generations of Southern men and women don't see things the same way I do. If we're in a meeting, and ideas are expressed that I don't agree with, I will respectfully present my point and vocalize my own opinion. I am always open to a discussion. And when the majority wins, the majority wins.

But, I do think a good discussion is warranted -- especially when my reputation is attached to the project. And I am not open to being told what I will and will not put my name on without my input.

I consider it a kind of continuation of the same idea of being a Southern woman. I may not love a project 100%, but if I've had my say, and I'm on a team, I'll grin and bear it. I will not, however, being told what my contribution is and what my own words will be, impale myself on the leg of the present presentation easel, claim it was all my idea, and then say "thank you sir" afterwards.

I don't represent us all, but this is just the kind of Southern girl I am.

Pat Conroy, Writing and Family

Last night, my mother graciously invited me to go with her to hear Cassandra King, Rick Bragg and Pat Conroy speak. (I also saw Brett Butler of Grace Under Fire fame in the stairwell. I'd try to stretch that story into another "celebrity" encounter, but I've pretty much covered all the details already -- Brett Butler, stairwell, and I'm out. Sigh.)

I enjoyed all three speakers immensely. All were quite funny, and I loved being able to hear their thoughts on writing and the South.

Pat Conroy, in particular, spoke about how his mother raised him with a love of literature and how she really raised him to be a Southern writer. In his words, she taught him "to never be ashamed of where he came from -- except on his father's side."

That anecdote reminded me of a conversation I had with my grandmother (my mother's mother) when I first decided I wanted to give this writing thing a try.

"You have so much material," she said. "You really ought to write about your family."

"I don't think Mama would like that very much," I said. (For years, my mother's greatest fear was that I would write a book. Hopefully, some of that anxiety has abated in recent years.)

"Oh no, Dear," she said. "I was talking about your father's side. That's where all the good stories are."