How many classes or trainings have you had where the instructor starts by asking "what is culture?" and people call out increasingly inane things until someone says something so ridiculous that the entire class is silenced and agrees that we have stretched the definition far enough.
I have come to appreciate "southern" as a culture. I think one only comes to appreciate one's culture as distinct when living apart from it. In Taiwan, my friends and I focused more on the similarities of our shared western cultures. You may speak differently, my South African friend, but we can both agree on the need to move out of our parent's house and live independently as soon as possible. You may pronounce numbers as "noombahs" my friend from Leeds, but we can agree that we prefer our meat products properly refrigerated.
In chicago, my definition of culture becomes smaller, the differences more refined. My culture is not
western or American. My culture is Southern. It is defined by the way my grandfather would sometimes say "I ain't seen that in a coon's age" or "well, I'll be dogged" in one utterance that sounded like "wellalbeedawg". The way we devoted one entire day each July to "fixin' corn". That is, picking. husking, boiling, creaming, and freezing a year's worth of corn. The fact that some of my elementary school classes were held in a converted train caboose. Others aren't coming to mind at this moment, but each time a difference is pointed out, I appreciate where I come from a little more. I could devote an entire blog series to the deficiencies and backwardness of the South, but I'll leave the focus of this one on the things that make it home.
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