Song of the South

Country singer Alan Jackson claims that where he comes from, it’s “cornbread and chicken.” Well, Mr. Jackson and I don’t come from too far apart.  

You see, the Southern way of life is simpler than most. It’s a lifestyle based on tradition, close-knit families and friendly neighborhood competitions. Everybody loves their momma, manners are of the utmost importance and time passes just a little bit slower.  

Over break, I had the opportunity to reconnect with family I had not seen in years. We all have family we never see unless forced to at mandatory holiday gatherings, and this year I was reminded of exactly where I come from. 

For my people, the perfect Christmas Day is not white. Snow, in fact, causes mayhem and much distress. Before a “storm,” everyone goes to the store to purchase enough milk and white bread for a week. An inch and a half of snow closes schools, black ice is worse than the plague and no one owns winter clothes fit for the elements. Thus, we all stay indoors, constantly worrying one might get lost in the winter abyss. I exaggerate about the fear of wintry weather, but not about my kin. 

For example, Grandma Kathleen, “Kat Kat” to all who came before me, was born and raised in north Georgia. Farm girl by day, Southern cook extraordinaire by night, she embodies the meaning of a true Georgia woman. She’s quick as a whip and caring as can be, but sometimes, she uses age-old Georgia colloquialisms that outdate our generation by 50 years. 

“Georgian,” my dad calls it. “You speak French, I speak Italian. Kat Kat… she speaks Georgian.” Georgian is an archaic language much like Latin. At one point it thrived, but now it’s practically obsolete. Personally, I prefer Georgian—fewer conjugations.  

“How’s your momma and them?” Kat Kat asked me as she greeted me with a smiling hug.  

“My momma and who?” I asked, curious as to whom else she was referring. 

Before my career at Duke began, I thought everyone had a Grandma Kat Kat. I now understand, however, that I was wrong. Having spent the past weekend “rushing” freshmen girls, I realize my Southern roots put me in a minority at Duke. I don’t have California flair or New York drive, but I do know how to make a friend, hold a door and properly pronouce “y’all.” 

As I wandered about the kitchen, thankful, like so many others, for our snow-less Christmas, I stumbled into my Uncle Jimmy. 

Uncle Jimmy was anxious to talk football. “Every man should play football,” he had once told me, and now that Duke football was back on the map, Uncle Jimmy was eager to fill me in on his recruiting secrets from way back when.  

“My secret,” he told me as he pulled me in close, so that no cousins might hear his tactics, “was to pay close attention to the boys’ mommas. When I’d have my tryouts, next to the boy’s name and position, I’d write GLM or GLM-D. You know what that stands for, don’t you?” 

“No idea,” I said as I went through my mental list of football acronyms. QB was quarterback, PAT was point-after-touchdown, but GLM? I was stumped. Perhaps, it was Georgian.  

He pulled me in closer and grinned (“grinnin’ like a Cheshire cat,” as Kat Kat would say), “GLM: Good Lookin’ Momma. GLM-D: Good Lookin’ Momma, Divorced. Only lost three games in 15 years.”  

Many consider Duke to be the “Harvard of the South,” but I disagree. Only its location makes Duke Southern; the entirely unique amalgamation of students has shown me more diversity than I’ve ever encountered in Georgia. With all these different backgrounds, I think it is important to understand where you come from, because how else will you know where you’re going?

For the record, if you don’t know where you’re going but got a Good Lookin’ Momma, football recruiting season starts soon. 

Molly Lester is a Trinity junior. Her column runs every other Friday.