by Anita S. Lane
I know the South has its history. But on a recent trip to my husband’s family homestead in a small town in southern Georgia, I saw none of the dark side I’ve read and heard about in times past. I was struck by the common courtesy and pleasantries extended by most everyone we encountered.
Our first stop inside the Peach Tree state was at the Waffle House—my favorite place to stop for breakfast. It was crowded and our very sweet waitress had difficulty with our order. After we got the order straight, the woman in the booth in front of us began a bit of friendly conversation. “I think these two ladies are new…” She said referring to the two waitresses in a sweet southern accent. “What we usually do is order the adult breakfast and split it in half for the kids. It’s cheaper that way.”
“Thanks,” we said—wishing she had butted in a few minutes sooner. We could have saved $3.00. She then began to tell us how they had to get home to finish putting up their Christmas decorations. “Y’all have good evening,” she said as she left the restaurant.
My husband decided to suggest to our waitress that she tell future customers it may be more cost-effective for them to order the adult meal for the children share. To my surprise, she welcomed this piece of advice. “Oh, I sure will! That makes a lot of sense. Thank you!” I couldn’t help but think, “I don’t know how well received that piece of advice would have been where we’re from.” But once again, that was that sweet southern hospitality showing through.
Thanksgiving morning our family made a run to the store—15 miles outside of town— to pick up a few things for the next phase of our road trip. While in the grocery isle, a friendly gentleman stops to give a compliment. “What a handsome family you have there.”
“Thank you,” my husband replied. A minute later he returns with his sister and his preteen daughter.
“I just had to let her see this family and this cute little baby…You don’t sound like you’re from ‘round here,” the man said.
“No. We’re from Detroit. We’re here visiting our grandparents.”
“Oh, who are they?” Well, as fate would have it, my husband was actually a distant relative of this gentleman—and his 17 other siblings.
Now I was shopping down another isle while this conversation transpired and when I turned into the isle a woman I’d never seen before was headed toward me with a big friendly smile and outstretched arms. “We’re kinfolk!” She exclaimed as she extended her arms and kissed my cheek. Before I could compose myself I was greeted with another big hug by her preteen niece. We had our own little reunion next to the bottled water.
We left the store to return to our Great Aunt’s home for a Thanksgiving meal of grand proportions—three turkeys, deer, fish and all the traditional trimmings—served in a grand foyer set with fine china and glassware for forty people. Now that’s hospitable! After dinner, Cousin Johnson invited us over so that the children could feed the chickens and watch him make syrup from sugar cane.
Once back on the road I said to my husband, “boy, folks sure are friendly down here—few handshakes—lots of hugs and kisses. And everyone says, “hello.” While it may have caught me a little off-guard, it was pleasant. Folks seem a lot more trusting.
I consider myself a very friendly individual. However, I realize that my “friendliness” is probably tempered by my northern upbringing. I began to wonder how different our nation would be if more people were warm, courteous and reached out to one another more. I think it would be a much better place. I see now that I may be pretty friendly for a northerner, but I’ve got a ways to go to compete with genuine southern hospitality.
Copyright ©2004 by Anita S. Lane
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