Saturday, February 13, 2010
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Drapery Goddess is a Steel Magnolia
I have always gotten a kick out of movies and T.V. shows depicting Southerners, particularly Southern women. These gals always have big hair and little brains, and they typically speak with a drawl big enough to drive a Mack truck through. They seem to live in a world that more closely resembles a Junior Miss pageant than real life, and they like it that way.
What amuses me about them is that they bear little resemblance to the Southern women I grew up around.
I come from a long line of deep-South, Alabama women. My mother is the quintessential Southern belle. But big hair or not, I would never characterize her as ignorant, shallow, or clueless. She, like her mother and grandmother before her, is every bit the Steel Magnolia: gracious, beautiful,intelligent, resourceful, and hard as nails.
I have discovered in my travels to other parts of the country that there is a certain subtlety to Southern society that is totally lost on our counterparts in other regions. A woman from New York or Seattle or Phoenix is direct in her dealings with others. In the South, directness is often interpreted as rudeness. There are nuances to our conversation that outsiders miss: a raised eyebrow, a slight hesitation in speaking, the choice of a particular word full of unspoken import. A Southern woman can insult you without your even knowing it. And of course, there is also an unwritten code of proper behavior. There are certain topics of conversation that will NEVER be appropriate at a luncheon. And the failure to send a thank-you note can spell your doom in certain circles.
There is a separate language that Southerners speak. I often forget about this until I am in a group of non-Southerners. In the course of conversation, I will invariably make a comment that draws strange looks from my companions. That is when I realize that I have uttered a Southernism. Some place that is far off the beaten path might be referred to as "plumb nearly." A car that is crookedly parked is "all cattywumpus." Someone who is upset might have her "panties in a wad." And my favorite, spoken often by my mother when my sister and I were arguing: "Don't be ugly." As a child, I would sometimes look at myself in the mirror when she said this, wondering if I was indeed making an ugly face.
But being a Southerner is about more than the way we talk. It's about resourcefulness and determination. My great-grandmother raised and butchered her own chickens, grew and canned her own vegetables, and worked in an ammunition plant during World War II. Determined that her children would know how to conduct themselves in public, she got a book on etiquette and taught herself--and her family--proper table manners. She passed that Southern stubbornness on to her daughter, my grandmother. When my mother was in college, she had a car accident and my grandmother was called to the scene. She insisted that my mother, head bleeding, drive herself to the hospital (with my grandmother beside her). "If you don't," she said, "you'll be afraid to ever drive again." It might have seemed unfeeling, but she was probably right. Years later, whenever I would whine that I couldn't do something, my mother would simply say, "Can't never could." I never quite understood what that meant, but I got the message: we do what we set our minds to do.
I believe that my Southern roots are responsible for much of who I am today. My parents always responded to my wild ideas and ambitions with, "Well, of course you can do that!" Try out for All-County Chorus? Go do it! Go out for cheerleader without a gymnastic lesson in your background? Why not? Double major in college, get married your junior year, and still graduate on time with honors? Of course! Start your own business doing what you love? Sure you can!
And now I have the opportunity to pass that along to my own children. I want them to try--it doesn't matter if they succeed. I never want them to look back and wonder if they could have done something. I want to be an example to them. I want to face my fears of what might happen and try anyway, even if I fail. I want to raise my own little Steel Magnolias.
What amuses me about them is that they bear little resemblance to the Southern women I grew up around.
I come from a long line of deep-South, Alabama women. My mother is the quintessential Southern belle. But big hair or not, I would never characterize her as ignorant, shallow, or clueless. She, like her mother and grandmother before her, is every bit the Steel Magnolia: gracious, beautiful,intelligent, resourceful, and hard as nails.
I have discovered in my travels to other parts of the country that there is a certain subtlety to Southern society that is totally lost on our counterparts in other regions. A woman from New York or Seattle or Phoenix is direct in her dealings with others. In the South, directness is often interpreted as rudeness. There are nuances to our conversation that outsiders miss: a raised eyebrow, a slight hesitation in speaking, the choice of a particular word full of unspoken import. A Southern woman can insult you without your even knowing it. And of course, there is also an unwritten code of proper behavior. There are certain topics of conversation that will NEVER be appropriate at a luncheon. And the failure to send a thank-you note can spell your doom in certain circles.
There is a separate language that Southerners speak. I often forget about this until I am in a group of non-Southerners. In the course of conversation, I will invariably make a comment that draws strange looks from my companions. That is when I realize that I have uttered a Southernism. Some place that is far off the beaten path might be referred to as "plumb nearly." A car that is crookedly parked is "all cattywumpus." Someone who is upset might have her "panties in a wad." And my favorite, spoken often by my mother when my sister and I were arguing: "Don't be ugly." As a child, I would sometimes look at myself in the mirror when she said this, wondering if I was indeed making an ugly face.
But being a Southerner is about more than the way we talk. It's about resourcefulness and determination. My great-grandmother raised and butchered her own chickens, grew and canned her own vegetables, and worked in an ammunition plant during World War II. Determined that her children would know how to conduct themselves in public, she got a book on etiquette and taught herself--and her family--proper table manners. She passed that Southern stubbornness on to her daughter, my grandmother. When my mother was in college, she had a car accident and my grandmother was called to the scene. She insisted that my mother, head bleeding, drive herself to the hospital (with my grandmother beside her). "If you don't," she said, "you'll be afraid to ever drive again." It might have seemed unfeeling, but she was probably right. Years later, whenever I would whine that I couldn't do something, my mother would simply say, "Can't never could." I never quite understood what that meant, but I got the message: we do what we set our minds to do.
I believe that my Southern roots are responsible for much of who I am today. My parents always responded to my wild ideas and ambitions with, "Well, of course you can do that!" Try out for All-County Chorus? Go do it! Go out for cheerleader without a gymnastic lesson in your background? Why not? Double major in college, get married your junior year, and still graduate on time with honors? Of course! Start your own business doing what you love? Sure you can!
And now I have the opportunity to pass that along to my own children. I want them to try--it doesn't matter if they succeed. I never want them to look back and wonder if they could have done something. I want to be an example to them. I want to face my fears of what might happen and try anyway, even if I fail. I want to raise my own little Steel Magnolias.
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