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Health & Fitness

And That's What I Like About the South

The South has many fine traditions and some are fading away faster than you can say, "Fiddle dee dee."

I have lived in the South all my life. In fact, I often joke that I’m so southern I’m related to myself. (That’s probably true.)

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve noticed that some of my favorite southern traditions seem to be falling out of favor, and this distresses me greatly. (I think I feel a case of “the vapors” coming on!) In an effort to raise awareness for these vanishing bastions of southern culture, let’s ask the question: “Whatever happened to . . . ?”

Front porches. When I was growing up, that’s where all the action happened. People sat on their porches and solved the problems of the world. It was a vehicle for keeping in contact with their neighbors and for fostering a sense of community. We still “visit” (a great expression) but we do so on the deck, in the back of the house, surrounded by a privacy fence -- a much less friendly alternative.

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Good manners. Saying “no ma’am” and “yes, sir,”  “please” and “thank you,” were not optional in the household where I grew up nor were they in the one where I raised my own children. My grandmother insisted that good manners could get you in and out of situations where money, position, looks, and smarts were useless. I wish more parents taught this to their kids. It really builds their self-esteem to have adults respond to them in such a positive, affirming way. There is never any excuse for poor behavior.

Thank you notes. Everyone is online these days and if you get a thank you note at all, it’s most likely to be in the form of an email. Each year from the time I was 12 until she died, my mother gave me a box of monogrammed “informals” from Crane. Although any thank you note is better than none at all, there’s something about physically taking pen to paper that feels more appreciative. When I was in finishing school (yes, they still existed in 1981) there were girls who would carry thank you notes in their purses to parties, sneak into the bathroom, write them, and then stick them in the hostess’ mailbox on their way home. That’s hardcore gratitude right there.

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Calculating cousins. With the exception of genealogists, no one seems to know how to do this anymore. On long car rides my grandmother loved to challenge my cousins and me with what we called the "once removeds.” She would throw out a question, “How are your great Uncle Dutch’s children related to you?” Whoever answered first got half a stick of Doublemint. We were fiercely competitive; that gum was a hot item on a six-hour car ride through the Delta. (By the way, the correct answer is “first cousins, once removed.” If you guessed correctly, contact me and I'll get you your half stick of Doublemint.)

Landmark directions. With the prevalence of GPS and Tom-Tom, there is seldom any need to ask for directions. You just plug in the address and your electronic Boy Scout tells you how to get there. (Oftentimes in the voice of Patrick Stewart. Swoon.) I remember when directions included wonderful local color like, “Go out Lick Creek past Widow Maynard’s house and when you get to the burned out tobacco barn, turn left.  If you get to the cabin where Elmer Nubbs died, you’ve gone too far.” Now, those are directions that will stick in your brain.

I’m going to do my part to keep these traditions from disappearing completely. I hereby resolve to sit on my porch, say “yes ma’am” to the young barista that fixes my latte, write my thank you notes in longhand, play “once removeds” with my children, and tell friends how to get to my house by “taking a right after you go under the old train trestle.”

After all, it was one of Atlanta’s own who said, “Southerners can never resist a losing cause.”

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