Orthodoxy in DIXIE <\/a>article. (File it under the \u201cEtc\u201d column.)<\/em><\/p>\n\tWhat a hoot! All the mud-slinging that surrounded the Confederate battle flag atop the Statehouse in Columbia, South Carolina, got me thinking: Why is it that we didn\u2019t hear the middle class native Southern voices within that forensic roar? Perhaps the answer lies buried under the Southern accent. Mind you, I speak not of blue-blood Southerners, but of the majority of the native South, the lower and middle class natives.<\/p>\n
\tI was reared in a small town near Charlotte, North Carolina. Growing up, I never met a Jew, much less a Muslim. Lutherans were rare enough in my hometown, much less Roman Catholics. Basically, we were Baptists and Methodists, blacks and whites. With bussing, my school was 51% black. I remember being bullied on the first grade playground, daily, by two black boys. We laughed about it in high school. Save one occasion, I don\u2019t recall the prevalence of any Confederate flag, battle or otherwise, from my youth. <\/p>\n
\tBut I do know what it means to be a Southerner. I know what it means to be prejudiced. Yet I will have to provide greater detail before you can judge me in that regard. You see, I grew up in the 60\u2019s & 70\u2019s. My folks were cotton mill workers. I know what it means to long to leave the South. I also know what it means to feel blessed to come home. <\/p>\n
\tMy folks rarely went shopping on Saturday. That was the day that all the blacks shopped in our hometown. We would drive through the venerable old business buildings on our way to the lake. Sure nuf, town was teaming with darker skins. My dad said they all knew each other. It sure looked like it \u2014 they waved, smiled, greeted and visited with each other. In reality, I suspect they were just growing up black in the South. Looked to me like white folks did the same, down at the lake on Saturdays.<\/p>\n
\tIn my youth, I always believed my dad was prejudiced against blacks. Like many Southern white men, that\u2019s the way he talked. Upon getting a part-time job in the mill, I was shocked to observe his interactions with colored folks. It was downright good natured and friendly! They all seemed to love each other. It was more than a bit confusing. Although I spoke the language, I\u2019d not yet acquired the accent. I longed to leave.<\/p>\n
\tWhile studying genetics in high school biology, we learned that if one had a black ancestor the biological evidence might not show up till as much as a hundred years later. (I\u2019ve no idea if this is true, but the teacher said it was possible.) After dinner that night, I tested my dad. Relating the details from the class, I asked him what he\u2019d do if mom gave birth to a black baby. Again, I was surprised. He said, \u201cI\u2019d love that child \u2026 care for him \u2026 give him everything I have. I\u2019d kill your Mama, though. Ain\u2019t no way she could convince me that that happened a hundred years ago.\u201d We laughed. I\u2019m positive he later told that story to his black friends at work. No offense taken, it was all in the accent.<\/p>\n
\tAs rock-n-roll died and disco loomed, we entered a grey area. The line between black and white was less visible. Heck, nothing was very clear except the need to dance. The high school gymnasium would be filled to capacity following another losing football game. The whites would be dancing with the whites; the blacks with the blacks. But we were on the same page of music. We were together but separate. Of course, the whites kept a longing eye toward the blacks. Else how would we ever learn the new dance moves? (I must point out that success in this regard was not always optimum.)<\/p>\n
\tWith disco came new battles. Blacks and whites were found mingling more and more. The overwhelming majority of music was being sung and performed by black artists. Frustrated dancers (aka white boys) were spending tons of money on black music. White deejays could make the dark crowd move. Truth be known, we all probably became too accepting in those early naive days of disco. It was a time of overwhelming change. For a while, we were all speaking the same language. Well, almost all. There were the rebels one might see at the County Fair or the Carowinds theme park. These wore black tee shirts with white letters \u201cDisco Sucks.\u201d These folks, I always imagined, were probably the same ones who paraded the Confederate battle flag with hatred. They obviously couldn\u2019t dance (to the beat of any drummer).<\/p>\n
\tI thought I hated the South. Television shows such as \u201cThe Dukes of Hazard,\u201d \u201cThe Beverly Hillbillies,\u201d even \u201cAndy Griffith\u201d allowed me to observe the way, apparently, the outside world saw us. I wanted no part of it. This, coupled with my perceived parental prejudices, drew me more and more toward black folks and \u201coutsiders\u201d (e.g., Roman Catholics and Yankees). I had an uncle who lived in Secaucus, New Jersey. Every now and then, we\u2019d visit him and tour New York City. Ah, away from the South! My only confusion lie in the fact that prejudices seemed to abound up north! Ours seemed tame by comparison.<\/p>\n
\tNeedless to say, due to the times and my liberal education, I never gave much thought to the Confederate flag. Never owned one, much less argued over one. Except, that one occasion. You see, our high school had a \u201crace riot\u201d every year. It was an annual observance. There was tension, some fisticuffs, racial slurs \u2026 then it was over. No one ever seemed in agreement as to the catalyst of this yearly event. Except in 1978. That was the year that, apparently, some ol\u2019 redneck had climbed up onto the water tower and put up the Confederate battle flag. That was the most confusing \u201crace riot\u201d of all. This was, after all, during the heyday of disco. We were all dancing to the same beat (except for the small \u201cDisco Sucks\u201d contingent). We thought we\u2019d put all that racial stuff to rest. Suddenly, that flag \u2014 to the indoctrinated black kids \u2014 represented the worst side of all whites. To us, their rage at the water tower display washed away the disco lovefest. Gosh, we were different after all. If memory serves me, that was the year that all the white students were called into the auditorium, with the blacks being segregated to the gym. I don\u2019t remember what was said. I do remember the blacks were allowed to go home early. In a few days, it was all a footnote; a footnote to our Southern accent.<\/p>\n
\tThe summer of my freshman year of college, the Southwestern Book Company sent me to sell books door-to-door in the Northwoods of Wisconsin. I had finally escaped the South. Though I loved Wisconsin, the accent was much different there. Many were prejudiced against the Indians (aka Native Americans). In fact, I actually met people who had never seen a black person except on television! The friendly folks of Northern Wisconsin got a kick out of the way I talked. They said they could listen to me for hours. On more than a few occasions, someone would comment on how prejudiced we all were in the South. These were usually the same folks who\u2019d never seen a black man. It was like the pot calling the kettle Indian.<\/p>\n
\tAfter graduating, I shared a house with a black roommate. Finally, I had arrived! Well, not really. He and I soon discovered that no matter how \u201chip\u201d you are, you can still be prejudiced. I shared with him all the racial jokes I knew. He actually laughed! I couldn\u2019t understand the white jokes he shared with me. Sort of like the machinations of dancing, I suppose. I was too close to my own blindness to follow the steps.<\/p>\n
\tThese days, when I go back home, my Mom or Dad is always relating greetings from some black acquaintance with whom they spoke recently at the store. (Everyone shops on Saturdays now. I\u2019ve even seen blacks at the lake.) At least the grapevine I\u2019ve known still carries racially prejudiced humour. Heck, black comedians have it down to a fine art; Jeff Foxworthy makes us all laugh. Catching a glimpse of an old \u201cAndy Griffith\u201d presents no struggle as in days past. Face it, we\u2019ve all been through a lot. <\/p>\n
\tBut my point in saying all of this is that, I don\u2019t appreciate the talking heads of the major media getting involved in stirring up trouble in the South. If I didn\u2019t know better, I\u2019d suspect that one of them climbed above the South Carolina Statehouse and planted that flag for their own selfish reasons. Rather, it had been flying there since nearly the day I was born. It never seemed to be a Southern issue. In fact, I\u2019m not convinced it is now. <\/p>\n
\tA few years ago I performed a wedding in Columbia. There were blacks and whites in attendance. We were within eyesight of the flag. And, yes, being a Southern town in the summer, there was what we used to call \u201cdisco music\u201d blaring in the distance. The following morning, my family toured downtown Columbia. We saw more blacks than whites (it was Monday, mind you). And there, above the Capitol building was the Confederate battle flag. It was, more than likely, hoisted to third rank prominence by a black State employee. Pouring out of the Statehouse was several bus loads of children, mostly black. Thanks to the media and political indoctrination of the times, I was in search of disgruntled, unhappy, protesting faces. I saw none. Yet, on the way home, I saw a few cars with the bumper sticker \u201cTake It Down.\u201d These people seemed opposite \u2014 but similar \u2014 to the \u201cDisco Sucks\u201d crowd. Both were angry; both minorities. <\/p>\n
Those of us who\u2019ve learned to make do with past and present differences know that everything is not black and white. Rather, it\u2019s about being separate and together, together. It comes with experience, absent an outside agenda. Why, just the other day, I saw a black man driving around in a pickup truck with a Confederate flag decal. Those of you not from around here just wouldn\u2019t understand. Frankly, my dear outsiders, it\u2019s a Southern thing. In the working-man South, among native blacks and whites, it\u2019s a confederacy of accent. <\/p>\n<\/body><\/html>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Warning: The following article is secular. It has nothing to do with Orthodoxy. It was, however, the impetus for the Orthodoxy in DIXIE article. (File it under the \u201cEtc\u201d column.) What a hoot! All the mud-slinging that surrounded the Confederate battle flag atop the Statehouse in Columbia, South Carolina, got me thinking: Why is it […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1691,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2499","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\n
Accent on the South<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Warning: The following article is secular. It has nothing to do with Orthodoxy. It was, however, the impetus for the Orthodoxy in DIXIE article. (File it\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/orthodixie\/2004\/08\/accent-on-the-south.html\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Accent on the South\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Warning: The following article is secular. It has nothing to do with Orthodoxy. It was, however, the impetus for the Orthodoxy in DIXIE article. 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