Southern novelist Blanche McCrary Boyd writes: “Southerners are as polite as cattle, except when they’re not. When they’re not, they might shoot you or chase you around the yard with a hatchet.”
Yeah… we different.
When I was in elementary school, we were taught to spell the name by use of a little song. I’m sure that there’s quite a few of you out there who can relate.
Don’t remember anything about the song besides the chorus, but that’s all you need anyway. It was written in 1916 by a guy named Bert Hanlon, I guess to help people spell a tricky name.
It’s all in the way it’s cut up. MIS…SIS…SI…PPI. I can tell you, it works. I have NEVER misspelled it….EVER. That would be shameful. Let’s hear you sing the melody!
What does this have to do with anything? Nothing really. Other than to kick off an article about… you guessed it… Mississippi.
Although I have spent large portions of my life in other places – the price you pay as an Air Force brat – this state is my home.
I was born in Memphis to a Mississippi mother and a New York father back in a time when that city was part of advanced human civilization. Any thoughts of maybe annexing it into the Magnolia State some day have long since died.
Somalia would be a better choice.
I should clarify that statement about my dad. He was a former Yankee. Joining the Navy, it wasn’t long before he met my mother and blossomed into a real Southerner, more Mississippian than many born here.
Dad couldn’t quite completely shake the Brooklyn accent, but the family loved him despite his speech impediment.
Mississippians on vacation go to Epcot in Disney World so they can see a depiction of how people live in other countries.
Yankees and Californians vacation in Mississippi, Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee and the Carolinas to see how people live in the United States. (Many of them need interpreters.)
Every time I’m in Columbus and it’s time to reluctantly head back to Sodom and Gomorrah, I cringe. South Florida is NOT “the South.” It’s basically the city dump for most of the country’s worst states and the world’s worst countries.
I’m paying for all my sins. And God chuckles a bit.
In Mississippi, it seems like there’s a church on every corner and a Dollar General about each quarter mile. In Miami and West Palm Beach, there’s a “medical” marijuana store and a massage parlor instead, punctuated with the random totally naked strip club.
If you have a breakdown or flat time on the road in Mississippi, just relax. The next person driving by is likely to help in whatever way they’re needed.
In much of the country, you are about to be mugged if not worse. The worst part is if you misgender the mugger, they will most likely arrest YOU.
Why is it that expressing an otherworldly opinion is met with “bless your heart” in the South rather than, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
That’s so we won’t have to chase you around the yard with a hatchet.
Thom Caraccio ([email protected]) is a retired musician and retired motion picture scenic artist living in West Palm Beach, Florida who hails from Columbus. He graduated from S.D. Lee High in 1968 and still considers Columbus his real hometown.
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Quality, in-depth journalism is essential to a healthy community. The Dispatch brings you the most complete reporting and insightful commentary in the Golden Triangle, but we need your help to continue our efforts. In the past week, our reporters have posted 41 articles to cdispatch.com. Please consider subscribing to our website for only $2.30 per week to help support local journalism and our community.
