As a Southern girl who’s recently been thrust back into the wilds of North Carolina, albeit temporarily, I’ve quickly become re-accustomed to these and many other facts of Southern life. I’m certainly not complaining about it; there is a particular draw for Southerners to return. I’d even go so far as to say it’s ingrained, regardless of whatever it was that inspired your flight or continues to keep you away. That’s not to say everyone returns, or that everyone gives one iota of consideration to this inborn, almost magnetic pull, but it’s there. Sure as the skeeters are thriving and every restaurant serves sweet tea.
There is another facet of Southern life that many chalk up to “hospitality.” Southern hospitality is a genuine thing, and it flourishes despite all the odds. It is not, however, always an altruistic thing. In many cases, “southern hospitality” is a fancy euphemism for “I woulda got my butt beat if I didn’t do this growing up, and the mere memory of it still smarts enough that I have no choice but to do it now.” See how fancy that is?
Nevertheless, it can always be counted upon that Southerners will feed you. If you are hungry, and if they have the means to feed you, no matter how meager, they will sit you down at their table, fix you a plate to go, or make sure – in some other unobtrusive but completely obvious way – that you eat.
It doesn’t matter if you’re their kin, their friend, or a member of that nebulous but no less important social group known as “their people.” Propriety is always a matter of perspective down here. If you’re hungry, you’ll eat. It may not be good, or enough, but one way or another, you’ll eat.
The catch here is that “you” does not always mean you’re of the most upstanding character, or that you’re even human. Southerners will take even the unlikeliest of characters under their nourishing wing.
Your uncle Bob who, lord help him, has been in and out of jail and struggles daily with even the simplest civility? “Well, I’m sure he’s just been dealt a rough hand and he’ll come around eventually. Here, have some ham biscuits.”
Your neighbor’s kid’s best friend’s older sister who runs around with a wild bunch and picks her nose in public? “Sugar, you must be hungry. I’ve got some banana pudding in the fridge. It’s not much, but it’s something.”
The birds that poop all over your car the minute you’ve washed it? The squirrels that tear through the very life and limb of your garden? The feral cats abandoned when a ne’er-do-well neighbor skipped town on his rent and his child support?
Yup, even them. As I type, I’m watching a motley crew of felines that belong to no one and answer to nothing chow down on the offerings of cheap cat food left out for them so – bless their little kitty hearts – they don’t go hungry.
Oh sure, not everyone ascribes to this particular brand of hospitality. The South has just as many mean and bitter inhabitants as any other dot on the map. There are plenty of people simply too preoccupied with their daily lives and the struggle to get through them that feeding someone or something else doesn’t rank high on the list, if at all. There’s no right or wrong to it; I won’t begrudge someone else the prerogative to mind his or her own business first.
But man, those feral kitties? They sure are living high on the hog, as Southerners like to say. And yes, that’s a food reference. Because boy, do we like to eat.
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