A couple of days ago, my hubby came back from a very long evening walk to report on all the neighbors he’d seen. Most evenings, I join him on the walk, and we see almost no one. There’s something about him going somewhere—anywhere—alone. He is a social magnet!
Anyway, my hubby announced that we have a new neighbor, whom he met in her driveway, introducing himself and waving other walkers over to introduce themselves. On his very first introduction, he found out who she already knew in the neighborhood, her occupation, and even her name and number, for Heaven’s sake!
Chitchatting for a few minutes, the new homeowner’s next door neighbor stepped out to visit her mailbox, and the most Southern of the group, Jamie H., purposefully strode over to meet her at the mailbox, announcing his presence with “Jamie H. Have you met your new neighbor yet?” Did you catch that? Jamie H. performed a VERY Southern tradition that I’ve only experienced in the hospitality state: he prefaced his statement with his own name.
I’d love to get the hang of doing this, but as I’ve noted before, I’m just not quite Southern.
I’ve witnessed the unique tradition of greeting someone with one’s own name from the first year that my husband and I moved to Mississippi from Texas. A kind-hearted young woman, Shannon W., whose husband was chief resident when my husband began his internship introduced herself to me, firmly directed our conversation to all about me and my family, and then proceeded to introduce me to other people. For the next couple of years, whenever I came across Shannon, she would greet me with her name, followed quickly by an expression of concern and care for the welfare of my family. I mean, she remembered names and dates, and… everything! She astounded me!
When I joined the Junior League of Jackson, I noticed that Shannon treated everyone with the same regard as she treated me. She almost always introduced herself before asking after that person’s family or a special situation. At one meeting, I turned to a friend and said, “I’m going to vote for her when she runs for governor.” The friend gasped, “Is she really going to run? I’d vote for her, too!”
Shannon and Jamie are not the only people I heard stick this super Southern tradition. In 2009, my husband and I bought a farm from Charles R. What a wonderful man! He is a well-known businessman and has the respect and affection of everyone who knows him. In his great kindness, he became not only a friend but also an advisor to my husband. We’ve run into him and his wife at restaurants and the grocery store through the years, and he’s always smiled with delight and said, “Charles R. How are you?” I always laugh and say, “I know who you are, Mr. R!”
So why do true Southerners introduce themselves to people they don’t often see, even though the initial introductions were made long ago? After much thought and deliberation, I’ve come to the conclusion that it is save me from shame and embarrassment of not remembering their name. If everyone followed their example, I would no longer have to squirm and struggle with placing or naming a person who’s reached out to me across a grocery aisle, arresting me with my name. I’m terrible with remembering names! If only I could be a true Southerner and become comfortable with saying, “Nancy Venarske. How do you like your new home?”
