Write about whatever you’d
like, but write using regional slang, your dialect, or in your accent.
Well, it’s been quite a time since I had the opportunity or need to
practice my natural born Southern English, but I reckon I can give it a try. I
see now that I have lived away from “Alabama the Beautiful” so long that
growing up in the South was truly unique.
I didn’t know I had such a thick accent until I lost the bulk of it
while residing over yonder on that atoll.
I use’ta have what my track coach in high school called “an educated
Southern accent.” I might could, ya’ll, and fixin’ were all staples of my
language back then. Catching “Light’nin Bugs” and picking honeysuckle from the
backyard were some of my favrit activities as a yung-un, and I still luv to listen
to my Ant’s storytelling. During holidays, we always visited my dad’s family up
at Sand Mountain, and if you thought I had an accent, you ain’t heard nuthin’ yet
! And once again, the storytelling by my cousins was the best entertainment of
all.
Of course, we had our share of troubling times as well, like when the
tornados ripped through a heavily commercialized area, including my dad’s
office building, but then again, we did live in what’s called “Tornado Alley,”
so we were use’ta the sirens and unbelievable stories of touch downs in various
parts of the state over the years. I remember the cows in Jones Valley in
particular because one or more was killed by pencils from the local elementary
school when they were thrown so forcefully into their skulls that they died!
True story.
Sunday meant attending one of the many, many churches dotting the major
roads throughout the city. I was amazed at how few churches there are in my
area of WA. I reckon that was specific to the South, which is not only Tornado
Alley, but also part of the “Bible Belt.”
Summers were spent traveling to the beach in Florida or to Six Flags
over Georgia (where most of my GA cousins worked at some point or
another). We did take the camper across
the states once or twice, but mostly we traveled close to home.
Eating together as a family was casual, taking our plates to the stove
for hot items and the counter for cold ones and dishing them out ourselves.
There was no reason for formalities, except for the prayers always said before
we got our food. Sweet potato pie and pea-can pie were always
served at Thanksgiving next to the green bean casserole with French fried
onions on top and the fried okra, usually from someone’s backyard gardens. For fast food, we enjoyed McDonald’s, but
also Captain D’s, Krystal, and Chick-Fil-A.
For a sit down meal, we ended up at Gibson’s BBQ, Catfish Cabin, Pizza
Hut, or Picadilly’s at the mall.
Some of these experiences may be more Southern than others, but it’s things
I remember that are different from what I’ve experienced since leaving the
South almost 20 years ago. It’s much
more difficult to write in a Southern accent (or any accent for that matter)
than I hoped it would be. Kudos to those writers who do write in a different dialect…not
easy! Thanks for muddling through my weak attempt!
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