We have a particular way of doing things in the south, especially if you were born before 1960.  We are taught that ‘proper’ applies to manners, dress codes, getting in and out of cars, anything that anyone else, especially the neighbors, can observe and pass judgment on. 

     People in this area honor tradition and the most honored is the concern shown at a death and funeral.  This applies to anyone who has ever lived in the neighborhood, gone to the same church, relatives of any of the same, and any family member or members by marriage.  Nothing brings any family closer together than death.  It all starts with the phone calls….”have you heard about ___________?  He/she died this morning.  Let me know if you hear anything.”  Then the visits to the home begin and all the relatives show up from wherever, bringing their new families along, with kids whining about ‘there’s nothing to do here’ and ‘I’m bored’, spouses sitting in the corner being scrutinized by the home folks, and the door opening and closing constantly with neighbors bringing in food.  Nothing can console like potato salad, fried chicken and triple layer chocolate cake (homemade, not out of a box).  This goes on for at least a couple of days and then everybody congregates at the funeral home.

     “Law, doesn’t he look good?” or “doesn’t he look natural” and “have you met ___________?  She’s junior’s wife…the one from Ohio.  Her daddy’s people were in the paper business.  This is my son Billy.  He works in the mill.”   (My personal opinion is that the deceased may look nice, but they still look dead and certainly not ‘natural’.)  The scrutiny continues by all who come through the line as they glance around and then linger over the coffin, offering their thoughts on the life and looks of the deceased. All family news is learned at the funeral home.  I’ve seen relatives that I haven’t seen since we were in grade school and then I probably won’t see them again until the next funeral.  I had a great aunt who visited every viewing room in the funeral home when she attended.  Funerals were a source of entertainment for her and it didn’t matter if she knew the decedent or their family.  She got to view the corpse and for her, that was better than television any day.

      Names are important in the south.  Many young men are called ‘Junior’ or ‘June’ simply because they were named for their father.   This brings a lot of confusion at family gatherings when several boys are called after their fathers….nobody knows which ‘junior’ anyone is referring to.  North and South Carolina folks have a fondness for calling people by both first and middle names.  My husband’s people are mainly from South Carolina.  He has family members named Frances Hope, Mary Etta, Barbara Etta, Henry Ray, Terry Elaine, Linda Joyce, Nettie Mae, Harold David, Bobbie Joan, Mary Lee, and they also have a Bubba and a Boo.

     You can say almost anything about anybody as long as you say “bless his heart” which can cover a multitude of sins.  Anyone can be “dumb as a stump, bless his heart” and that’s fine.  It’s all covered in the blessing of the heart just like a blessing from the priest covers any sin committed by a good Catholic.  Just be sure to add “bless his/her heart” when making any detrimental comments.

     I have noticed that many people who work in the public often call customers, patients, or clients by ‘honey’, ‘sweetheart’, ‘darlin’ ‘, or ‘dear’.  The receptionist in my mother’s doctor’s office makes a habit of going down the sign-in sheet calling everyone by these terms.  She starts off with ‘honey’ on the first name, goes through ‘dear’, and then starts all over.  This repetition does get on one’s nerves after the first ten or fifteen names and one does want to get the receptionist by the neck and strangle her, bless her heart.  A friend of ours recently greeted another man with a “hey, Jack, old buddy.  How’re you doing?”  He got a reply of ‘My name ain’t Jack, I ain’t old, and I ain’t your buddy”.  I guess it all depends on the mood at the time.

     Church going is a really important part of lives in this section of the country as people many times are judged by the church they attend.  Many years ago my father-in-law was asked what church he ‘was from’ and when he replied that he went to a Baptist church, the lady said she “guessed that was a little better than nothing”.  People are also inclined to ask “what do your folks do”…. translated into “how does your daddy make his
living”. 

     We are a proud people and we love these mountains, hills, and hollows, taking care of our families and being kind to our neighbors.   Bless our hearts; it’s a southern thing, darlin’.