I didn’t realize that I wasn’t southern until someone told me they were disappointed that I “wasn’t southern enough.” Actually, I’ve heard this multiple times since I arrived on campus last month.
I’ll admit that the transition from home to school was much easier than I thought it would be. Okay, so I spent ten minutes on move-in weekend looking around Target for the instant grits that they apparently don’t sell, but other than that, the culture shock of moving up north disappeared quickly.
Allow me to introduce you to Hickory, North Carolina. Approximately one hour from Charlotte, my hometown sits at the base of the Appalachian (App-uh-lah-chun, not App-uh-lay-chun) mountains. The sticky southern heat makes time seem to stand still, and the people that move there never leave.
I like to think that my hometown is just like the picturesque small southern towns that you see in the movies, and in many ways, it is. Everybody knows everybody, and front porches are used as living rooms almost all year round.
The only thing to do in Hickory on the weekends is to go see a movie and then get a slushie from the gas station. More daring souls will rev up their pick-up trucks and race down the highway.
Life there was simple and at the end of the day I appreciated that. There was comfort knowing that I couldn’t get lost downtown (it was really only 3 streets) and that someone was always ready to deliver a casserole to my door when a family member was sick. I can tell you the difference between Western and Eastern Carolina barbeque, and I’ll belt out Wagon Wheel every time I hear it.
Despite these things, most of what I did while I lived there was for the purpose of being able to leave. Even before deciding to go to Notre Dame, I knew that I would be going to school out of state, no questions asked. My parents didn’t want me to, but they knew that I had to. Hickory was never home for me. I always knew that I felt this way, but it wasn’t until I left that I was able to say for sure.
I’ve been at Notre Dame for a month, and I feel more connected to this place than any other. While I’m ready to see my family again, I know that when I board my plane for Charlotte in a few weeks, I won’t be going home – I’ll be leaving it.
Any trace of an accent that I once had has disappeared. I can’t stand sweet tea and I definitely don’t own a pair of cowboy boots.
While I have a feeling that I’ll never move back there, I have to admit that there will be pieces of my small southern town that will always be a part of who I am. I still crave Cookout milkshakes at 2 a.m., I still refer to my friends as “y’all” and I’m always “fixing” to do something. Also, I’m sure I’ll miss North Carolina when I experience my first South Bend winter (what’s a permacloud??).
Until then, I’m going to embrace the fact that I haven’t experienced homesickness yet, which is probably because where I grew up isn’t where I belong anymore. But still, if anyone knows where I can find grits around here, please contact me ASAP.
HCXO
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