I smile. The man stares back at me and I look away, embarrassed. I feel my ears growing hot and I know my face is turning red, too. I am from here. I should know better.
DO NOT SMILE AT PEOPLE ON THE SUBWAY!
Before I moved to Jackson, I lived in New York City for four years of college. I was a pro at navigating the subway, walking quickly, avoiding obstacles on the sidewalk, and crossing the street irrespective of the traffic signal. I did not let people cut me in line and was very capable of intercepting those who tried. I mastered the art of hailing a cab and absolutely did not tolerate people who tried to steal my taxi by standing up-street from me.
In short, I was an excellent New Yorker.
When I moved to Jackson a year ago, I immediately started worrying that I was accidentally rude to people. I just was not used to making small talk with strangers, and oftentimes I didn’t realize strangers to speaking to me because, well, who talks to strangers? I had to learn to call people “sir” and “ma’am.” Where I come from (Massachusetts, then New York), women especially are very offended when you call them “ma’am.” It makes them feel old, and seems rude. But in the South, it is a much appreciated sign of respect. I quickly learned to love these habits. I think it is adorable when the students I work with call me “Miss Allison” and it is so sweet to see people holding doors open for one another.
I recently returned to NYC to visit my college friends. I landed at La Guardia airport, hopped over to the Upper West Side to visit campus, and then caught a train to Tribeca to meet up with my friends after work. That’s when things started to go wrong. I accidentally bumped into someone in the rush to get on the express train, so I said excuse me and let him go through the door first. He just looked at me and sort of smirked. How rude!
I was fortunate enough to find a seat and, like a true New Yorker, plugged in my headphones. Looking around at the other passengers, I smiled each time I made eye contact with someone. Once again, I must reiterate, this is the WRONG THING TO DO on the New York subway. People stared back or looked away or rolled their eyes. I could almost hear them thinking “where the heck is she from?”
This is not to say that New Yorkers are mean, or that Southerners are all quaint, sweet people. Most New Yorkers often offer subway seats to people who need them, and some Southerners drive like inconsiderate maniacs. Individually, I think we are more alike than we realize. Dan Ring discussed various theories of the difference between North and South, City and Small Town, in his blog post a few weeks ago, so I will direct your attention to that post for more details. What I will say here is that I think my ideal world is a combination of the two.
Without offending anyone, I would like to say that in my experience, people in the South are definitely overtly friendlier, but perhaps also a little less hurried—which can be a wonderful quality, or a frustrating one. Meanwhile, Northerners (specifically, New Yorkers!) might not be as gregarious to strangers, but are also a little more hurried—which can be a wonderful quality, or a frustrating one.
And what’s funny is, I always identified with the pace and attitude of New Yorkers… but after only a year in the South, when I went back up to the big city, I felt like a country mouse. I had begun displaying some outward signs of Southernness… and I’m okay with that. I love New York, I love the South, and having lived in both places I am now hoping to embody the best of both worlds.
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When you’re not “from” the South, you have to get used to a few things when you move down here. There are the dialect differences, obviously. If you’re Jewish and have only lived up North, you do notice the Bible Belt culture quite a bit, too. And if you’re a sports fan, well – there’s even more culture shock to deal with!
Some people say home is where your heart is, or where your family is, and that may be true – but for me home is also where my teams are. I am a serious Boston sports fan. I am now living outside the area generally defined as “Red Sox Nation,” so there aren’t as many Sox or Pats fans around as I’m used to. During important sporting events, I feel a little far from home.
However, I am still as obnoxious a fan as ever.
I wore my New England Patriots t-shirt all season, and I enact all my game-day superstitions even in this hostile Southern territory. My family has a tradition that when the Patriots are playing badly, we rearrange how we’re sitting in the hopes that the change in our feng shui might positively affect the outcome of the game.
I have not hesitated to continue this practice in sports watching venues here in Mississippi. Much to my surprise, I even persuaded some of my friends to join me on this bandwagon.
One very telling moment was during the October 13th Patriots-Saints game. The New Orleans Saints are the geographically closest NFL team to Jackson, so most people here root for them. I was a lonely island in a sea of New Orleans fans watching this game at our local sports bar. Let me tell you, it’s a little scary to be “that fan” cheering for the team everyone else in the restaurant is rooting against. And I cheer loudly. But everyone still got along nicely. Maybe it’s part of that southern hospitality thing, but people here are still nice to you even when you root against the Saints.
The biggest challenge for me has been surviving in a land that loves Peyton Manning. You might have heard that Archie Manning (Peyton’s father) is from Drew, Mississippi, and this state seems to always root for him and his sons. I am not a fan of the Mannings. They’re probably very nice people and they all seem to be talented athletes but I am on the Tom Brady side of the Manning-Brady rivalry, thank you very much. Our loss to the Denver Broncos in the AFC championship was therefore particularly disappointing.
The Super Bowl presented its own special challenge. After the Patriots lost the AFC championship, I had to decide who to cheer for in the Super Bowl. Since Peyton Manning is the Broncos’ Quarterback, I knew everyone here would root for them. Should I also root for Denver, because the people around me would be and I wanted my friends to be happy? Or should I stay true to my team and root against Peyton? In the end I was pretty happy the Seahawks emerged victorious, but I had a little more empathy for Mr. Manning, too.
Now that football season has drawn to a close, I am looking forward to more Southern Sports Education. It looks like NHL is not as big a deal here as it is back home (shocker!) but I think I will learn a lot about college basketball this season instead. College sports are, in general, a way bigger deal here than up north and I am enjoying gathering new allegiances for teams in the SEC. Rooting for newly discovered teams here has made this feel more like home, and that is something I can definitely cheer for…
But don’t worry, fellow Patriots and citizens of Red Sox Nation: I’m still a Boston fan first, and always!
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With residents mostly emigrating from colder climates, my hometown really is a Southern (geographically) and Northern (cultural) fusion. Nicknamed “Paradise,” Sarasota, Florida’s motto boasts “Big City Amenities Meets Small Town Living.”
The town has plenty of personality with its big-meets-small mentality, beaches, and population. If you land in the airport, you’ll find a shark tank to greet you just outside of TSA Security. The “small town living” note on the sign should really say “small beach town living,” since Sarasota boasts one of the USA’s consistently best-rated beaches. Its affluent nature no doubt relates to the culture that John Ringling helped infuse into the society.
While travelling recently to a community on a rabbinic visit, I encountered another city with a very clear, yet completely different identity: Kilgore, Texas.
I had the pleasure of driving over from Longview after my visit had concluded to play a round of golf with some fellow golf-obsessed Nice Jewish Boys. Titled the “city of stars,” it’s not for astronomical or astrological reasons. Instead, it’s due to the discovery of oil in 1930. The “stars” to which it refers are the tops of oil derricks.
Never had I entered a city whose identity is so clearly played out virtually everywhere you go. As you drive in, instead of a shark tank, you are greeted by a giant oil derricks holding up the road sign. Immediately following is another oil derrick with the welcome sign… on which stands yet another oil derrick. I stopped in Circle K to grab a Gatorade to stay hydrated— lo and behold, an oil derrick was a column holding up the front overhang.
When I pumped my gas on the way out of town, I noticed that even the liquor store’s sign was modeled after the oil derrick. There’s something important about a town’s history, identity, and culture from what they make sure you notice while you’re there.
Whether it’s beaches or bohemian flair, olive trees or oil derricks, all towns are built around something. I will certainly pay more attention to the cities I enter from now on, looking for these markers that help explain who they are. It’s all part of hitting the road and really getting to know the communities we visit.
For what is your city best known?
Does it have a slogan?
How does its identity on display as you wander the streets?