Ohio-raised, Pennsylvania-born, I have no right to go around asking where "y'all" are going, or how've "y'all" been. Hardly. My only experience with the South, until U.Va., was visiting my grandmother in Retirement, Fla.
Despite this, suddenly my e-mails have all started with "Hey y'all -- I was just wondering ... " and I asked some friends at home if "y'all want to come visit me this year."
"Y'all, Clare?" they'd ask, thoroughly disgusted with my brand-new word.
The ridicule was almost unbearable, but regardless, "y'all" kept poppin' up in my conversations, and there was nothing I could do about it. I had become a victim, and I needed to know why.
They say the first step to healing is understanding (well, I think they say that). Anyway, it made sense to me, so I went on a quest to learn why "y'all" separates so many people in this great nation of ours.
This quest consisted of me contemplating the matter. I wasn't in the mood for an active adventure at the time. So I sat quietly on my computer, leaving my reading for another time when I was not so invested in such a true intellectual journey. And, by golly, I figured it out.
So here's the deal: I'm from the North, true, but maybe in a past life I was a small-time farmer who lived in Alabama and made moonshine illegally. That would be awesome; I could get really trashed and say "y'all" all I wanted.
Haha, just kidding. Actually, I did come up with something between checking away messages and updating my facebook account, both very addicting matters themselves.
The North has no culture, no defining northern characteristics. Sure, some of us say "pop" instead of "soda" or I guess we could always bond over some freezing snowy memories, but it's not the same. You never think of a coherent, cultured North.
You think South though, oh boy. You think relaxed, laid back and nice people. You think holding open doors, saying ma'am and sir, and banjos. You think: Kenny Chesney, damn is that man good looking.
No, but the studly Chesney does sing songs about the "chillness," so to speak, of the South.
"Blues? What blues? Hey I forgot 'em," he croons to all of us wishing for a slower pace and some partly-undressed good-looking men.
We Northerners and our fast pace, our get-out-of-our-face attitudes and our insensitivity for those coming through the doors behind us, we have no culture to belong to because we didn't have time to create one.
We were too busy building New York City and steel mills. We were too huddled up in our little cold cabins, too frigid to bond with our fellow Northerners.
Who can blame me for feeling more at ease with those who, well, seem more at ease? It's not my fault that I did not succumb to the pressure of those rat-race Clevelanders and fall prey to their mindset of efficiency and isolation.
No sir, I like living places where people have enough time to say hello.
Lately I've noticed though that the South has started to pick up some of our Northern bad habits.
Well, not that I was around before, but I kind of hoped for more Auntie Em type old ladies to be strolling through Grounds and offering me some sort of homemade baked good and some simple-yet-wise words of wisdom.
Hmph. No such luck. Instead, I get run over by bikers on the way to class. Sometimes, the Northerner in me wants to stuff a stick in their spokes. Read that three times fast you bikers.
Okay, I'll even settle for no cornbread or apple pie. I just want to find a place where people aren't too worried about what's going to happen the next minute, and the next. I want people who are happy to be where they are.
A question: Does one have to be Southern to be content with themselves and the moment? Hardly.
We don't need to pack our schedules full to appreciate our wonderful university. We don't have to have perfect GPAs to lead wonderful lives. Staying concerned with those things distracts us from what's really important and what we really want to do with our lives.
A very observant friend of mine noted that when she was applying to U.Va., she didn't get brochures with pictures of students who have nervous breakdowns and are in the library at four in the morning. All we were shown was happy people on the Lawn playing Frisbee. Where are those people?
Just to prove how relaxed I am to all of you, I decided not to do any work for the past week or so. Never mind the fact that I didn't think about the "y'all" meaning until today -- I no doubt felt subconsciously that I would have to give an example of how good enjoying the moment feels.
Well, sometimes not so much the morning after a night out, but eventually it feels real nice. Since we are talking about the South here, I feel justified in quoting another country song.
Ah, "Take me home country roads." Until further notice I will still be taken by interstates and turnpikes back to Cleveland.
However, I am okay -- no, I am proud to say "y'all" back at home to express my rebellion at fast-paced Americana. No one will stand in my way of enjoying my time.
Of course this has nothing to do with the fact that, "y'all" is shorter than "you all" and I am one hell of a lazy person.
Clare's column runs bi-weekly on Mondays. She can be reached at ondrey@cavalierdaily.com.
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