We’re just more polite in the south … though this may create a stir, I have to say it because it’s true.
As I get older, perhaps I get offended more easily. There are things I do not want to know about others and vice versa. The world has become too casual for me, embracing a familiarity one to another that I’m too old-fashioned to adopt. Thankfully, my husband shares this same “narrow minded-ness”- fuddy duddies that we are.
Just this week, the smoothness and subtly of southern good manners was reinforced to me, gently but powerfully. I have dealt with a certain company via the Internet for quite some time; I’d not spoken with either owner prior to just recently, when I needed to call and change an online order. I ended up speaking to the husband of the pair and casually mentioned something I’d written in an e-mail to “Kathy.” There was a pregnant pause on his part before responding, when he softly said, “you mean Karen, my wife?” I was embarrassed that I had gotten her name wrong; had even addressed e-mails to “Kathy” several times. She apparently was listening to his side of the conversation, as she said to him within my earshot, “Oh, she’s always called me that … but I knew who she meant,” in a slow drawl and with a gentle chuckle. Interestingly, Karen never felt the necessity to “embarrass” me by correcting me; it was her husband who corrected me ever so gently.
I grew up in a home where the foundation was good manners and courtesy, to the point of never allowing a guest in our home to be uncomfortable or feel unwelcome. Though “the door is always open” philosophy has never rubbed off on me (I don’t like drop-in company, the only southern tradition I don’t embrace), our porch door was always open to anybody who stopped by, and the person always received some type of refreshment offer (seldom refused). My family wouldn’t dream of dropping in on anyone without calling first (even relatives); however, would be gracious to anybody who might stop by unannounced. My grandmother, a “southern magnolia” through and through, insisted on making her bed, being fully dressed including fresh makeup, before emerging from her boudoir in the morning. I never saw her in a robe or dressing gown, not even on Christmas morning. She always chose to be well groomed, presentable, and prepared, not only for her family, but for anybody who might drop by.
My grandmother would be horrified at some of the more common practices of today: I get telephone calls from people who don’t think a thing of eating in my ear, hollering at an errant child while conversing, or subjecting me to even other personal practices, none of which I want to know about. She additionally never embraced the philosophy that every child’s query needed a response and could “dress me down” with a look which effectively communicated her refusal to respond, without a shred of meanness.
A well brought up southern youngster would never address an elder by a first name unless prefaced by a (I would be Miz so-and-so, my husband Mr. such-and-such). I instilled this custom in my daughter until she became a teenager and could handle last names easily. To me this is an endearing and charming custom which brings a smile to my heart when I hear it today ~ though less and less often. I delight in seeing a gentleman stand when a lady enters the room; I’m pleased that my husband prefers to open the door for me, or walk on the curb side of the sidewalk to protect me, grasps my hand or elbow as we cross the street, or pulls the dining chair out so that I may be seated by him.
Old fashioned? Perhaps. Some traditions cannot be improved upon.
Now, don’t call me until you’ve finished that snack.
