It’s a late hour, so please forgive the possible ramblings that might appear forthwith.
Let me begin by saying, I am a Southerner. I was born here, raised here, and will, by the grace of God, die here. My family has been Southern for 200-some odd years. Hell, my ancestors founded one of the most Southern town in South Carolina. I have roots here. It’s in my blood.
Which makes working for a Yankee pretty damn hard. We don’t see things the same way. We don’t speak the same way. We don’t communicate with people in the same way. And lately, it’s been getting me down. It’s trying.
However, this evening, while in the shower (where most pep talks seem to occur), it came to me. I’m not leaving this job. I’m sticking it out, no matter how much it makes me cry and how much wine I want to drink at the end of each day. I will not quit. I will not give up. Does the magnolia break apart in the hurricane? No…she stands tall, her branches strong and hard. I can handle these two Yankees and their northern attitudes. They’re on my turf. And if I have to act like a crude, loud, and rude Yankee to stake my place in this company, so be it. I will be northern during the day; I will drink Tennessee whiskey and let my accent come through at night. I will sleep soundly, knowing I did everything I could do, and in the morning, I will get up and face the new day again.
The South might not rise again, but I certainly will.
The Year of Things 