I'll Take Southern Comfort, Please

March, 2009

I've learned a couple lessons in the last six weeks. Not that I'm surprised. After a pretty big "life disruption" three months ago, my goal had been to learn, grow, and prayerfully watch and wait for what was next- more prepared than the last time I found myself in "this place." But sometimes truth hits you broadside even when think you're looking for it.

The Truth. Let me first digress and clarify: I'm hungry for truth about myself, as well as for what I would call "God's Truth" about life, the universe, and what is best for me in the midst of it; maybe that jives with you. Sometimes the Truth hits you in subtle gleanings falling on you like a soft spring rain, and sometimes it overtakes you like a good stomach virus or freight train. Last night, truth was a tsunami of tears, gut-wrenching, washing over me and subsiding in a heaving, rhythmic anthem; testimony to its import.

There were many levels to the revelation; first was the realization that some newly found hopes were lost-again. The vision of these hopes entangled with many older and equally-missed hopes intertwined in a mesh of vines in my head which I could not sort out. Confusion left after only a few moments, leaving behind the raw pain of fear that I may simply not have been good enough for the lovely man. That was a force with which I could not contend and left it on a mental shelf for later. What came next I was surely ill-prepared for. Not God's truth, (that will reveal itself over time), but a simple truth about men in my life that is sublime and darned near humorous.

Here it is: It's that sweet Kentucky drawl I'm gonna miss so damn much. Give me a southern gentleman over a northern man any time. Now, this may be nothing to you, but it is a massive shift in my perspective. After nearly five years with someone-not-from-the-south, I can't begin to explain how much I've missed those southern sensibilities. Southern mamas raise their boys right, teach them respect, how to open car doors for a lady and just treat her right- and GOD how I've missed that. And speaking of- Southern boys are more inclined to believe in God and live by Christian principles to which I hitch my wagon. (Yes they are- go write your own blog.)

In just a couple of weeks I've been treated better and made to feel more beautiful and special than in years with northern men. With his easy manner, the sweet soft affectionate way he carried himself, his hand grasping mine, a trip to Sam's for camping gear, and the myriad crickets he properly speared onto my fishhook one at a time- he couldn't help but snag me. Watching him looking for ways to jump in and help his neighbors- indeed anyone in the vicinity at any given moment- with his kind and compassionate heart he had me, hook, line and sinker.

A man from a southern family knows how to treat women because he has at least ten sisters from whom to learn a few key tenets of life and sensitivity to our sex. Because he's pulled food from the soil and fish from the water with his own hands , he's pragmatic, logical, sensible; he senses that life and death, flood and drought, joys and tragedies are all to be expected, and deals with them at a steadier pace than his northern counterpart. He appreciates the subtle beauty of roses popping open, the mist enshrouding the moon, and the deliciousness of an impassioned lightning storm. To him, the view of the city from The Hill and the feel of whitewater rushing the sides of the kayak are the whipped cream on the bourbon cake of life.

Now, I know not all southern men live out these southern charms, but in my experience they're more likely to than northern men. They're bred in there, somewhere, deep in their psyche. There's something, too, about the way the steamy southern summer heat breeds sensuality in a southern man, and molds all that goodness into one really sweet package. The watershed must be to blame for his good looks...I have no other ideas as to that. I won't even begin to tackle his huge, friendly southern smile.

So what do I do with this newfound revelation? For most of my life I've laid claim to my northern roots and my connections to French soil many generations back. I'd completely lost sight of how deeply my birthright as an Alabamian daughter of two yankees had impregnated my soul and mind and lifestyle. I've downplayed my own southern sensibilities, my own sweet southern charms and skills, as lesser qualities to global-mindedness and big-city-who-knows-what, probably to impress someone whom I didn't need to impress anyway. I'm recently reminded those southern charms are my best attributes. So I'd like to stake my claim right here, once and for all. I am southern born, southern bred, and I'll take my man southern, too.

And when I'm heard to pray, "God send your man into my life- and- Oh- can he have a foreign accent, please?" I'll know what to expect next time. Share