That’s My Southern Truth

It’s official: I’m a certified cracker

I got my ancestry results back recently. It came back as 100% assorted crackers.

I’m only partially kidding.

I mean, Irish, Scottish, Dutch, French . . . all the flavors of paleness.

You know, they say that America is a melting pot, but I think the south is definitely the most diverse, maybe aside from New York. Especially in Louisiana, Mississippi, Tennessee and Florida, you see all kinds of people from all backgrounds –  all types of crackers.

Well, not all of them are crackers, but you get my point. Some of them are more crack than er.

Ha, I cracked myself up.

My heritage is just a big mix. Regardless of what you may think, no, my family does not marry cousins. Not that I know of, anyway. That’s just a hurtful ole stereotype, and I personally don’t appreciate people singing “Sweet Home Alabama” like it’s my theme song.

My theme song would not be a country song, believe it or not, but if I had to pick one, I guess it would have to be a Luke Bryan song.

Speaking of country, what’s up with having a southern accent? You know, I’ve read that it evolved from a British accent, but that can’t possibly be right . . .right?

Creole is even worse; it’s like a melting pot of accents and languages.

But back to the point. A good ole’ southern drawl is nothin’ to be ashamed of, until the stereotype of sounding like a country bumpkin makes people think you’re stupid.

That’s why I’ve learned to “cracker code switch.”

It’s like regular code switching, but for southern people. See, when I’m speakin’ to a little sweet ole lady, I’m fixin’ to put on my sweetest thick southern drawl to make myself less threatnin’ to ‘er because, “Yes ma’am, I just love this sweet tea, and yes ma’am, your grandchildren are just darlin’, and bless your heart, my goodness.”

I also employ this tactic when speaking to blue collar workers because I want them to know they don’t make me feel threatened.

“What kinda work y'all doin’ out here?” and “‘Scuse me sir” and “My Deddy (southern for dad) sent me to come git that socket wrench and paperwork from you.”

I’ve got to let ‘em know that I’m not snooty or offended by their presence.

But of course, there’s a scale. Now I’ve met the famed MeeMaw, and best believe my accent was on its best behavior. Just enough so she knew I wasn’t a Yankee, but not too much to seem uneducated.

It’s like a superpower. I can turn it off mostly completely, which is helpful in certain situations like presentations and speaking to crowds of highly educated individuals. I say mostly because certain words just don’t like to come out correctly in a southern mouth. Like “rural” and “bulb” and “towel.” You know, those words with round sounds.

It does slip out badly when I’m ticked off. That’s when my friends like to make fun of me for it.

You know what else slips out? My cousins. They slip out of the woodwork literally anywhere and everywhere. At Publix, mostly, which I find strange. I’ve gotta be on my best behavior everywhere because I never know when a cousin will pop up.

Some stranger comes up and it’s all “Hey baby I haven’t seen you since you were this big!” Yeah, and I have no idea who you are, please get away from me, and it turns out she’s my grandfather’s cousin’s mom or something. I swear, it’s a full-time job trying to decipher who’s who.

However, being related to everyone does have its perks. I needed an interview with the probate judge – well hot-diggity, he’s my cousin. Refused to talk to anyone else at the paper but me because he knew I’d only publish the truth. I wouldn’t sell out my own family.

Needed to talk to the sheriff -- well, good because my grandfather worked for him forever.

It makes me feel like I have a secret weapon or something. You have to learn how to finesse your southern superpowers, whether that be an accent or a large family.

Look, being southern is a skillset, not just a mindset, and that’s my southern truth.