Geographical Nonsense
It happened and there was nothing I could do to stop it. We walked into the house together with me making final adjustments to my plastic, poorly constructed smile. There was a steel pole keeping my posture ridged. Melissa said my outfit was nice and almost wrinkle-free with all bodily smells completely under control. I wasn’t going to get any better looking.
There was no telling what topics would come up in conversation. With crossed fingers, I hoped it would center on the weather, my plans for the future, and the video game I was currently playing.
Melissa and I had dated for almost a month and we had reached official “You’re my boyfriend right?” status. That meant a casual visit with her family. The occasion was a birthday party for one of Melissa’s small cousins. We strolled in together with me opening the door (standard procedure) and holding hands (a bit of a risk for this staunchly traditional crowd).
I understood that the interaction would be stilted at first, probably uncomfortable later, and finished off nicely with everyone swinging their gavel in judgment.
The men immediately kicked my tires. “So do you like to hunt? (“No, not really”) How about cars? Do you change your own oil? (“And do what with the old stuff?”) Ever been in the military? (“No, but I had toy soldiers when I was young.”)”
So far…not so good.
“So Matt, you’re from where? Canada, some type of Dakota?”
Good, they finally threw an underhanded question to me. This one would be easy. “I’m from northern West Dakota…I mean western North Dakota but you can call it Canada if you want to.”
“Oh, so you’re a Yankee.”
My eyes went a bit cross-eyed. “No, you’re somewhat mistaken. I’m a Mid-Westerner. You see Chicago is the dividing line. If you were born or grew up west of Chicago then you are considered a Mid-Westerner but if you grew up east of the Windy City then you’re a Yankee. There’s an important distinction.”
“And what if you’re from Chicago?”
“Then you’re corrupt.” I thought that was funny.
Melissa’s grandmother smiled more polite than amused, “Gee, I don’t know, you sure look like a Yankee.
“Huh?”
“Yea, I could tell the very minute you walked through the door. Your posture is just a bit too good. Isn’t it Randy?”
“Yes Neeniemomma, it sure is and I’m sure he can’t say pecan right.”
My eyes, still cross-eyed, grew a bit narrow as well. “Wait, what?” I wasn’t going to score points by debating the topic. “Ok, yea, you’re right. Maybe I am a Yankee.”
That was apparently what they wanted. “Alright then Matt, you go to college with Melissa. What do you plan on doing with your life?”
“Well, I wanted to be a marine biologist but those jobs are a little hard to come by in Tennessee. Maybe one of you knows one who can help me get a job?”
“So is that some type of Yankee joke? We do know police officers if you want to get arrested.”
…I’d like to say that the years have eased me into my in-law’s clan the same way Melissa has blended with mine but it’s never happened. That may be why we live more than four hours away.
February 2nd, 2009 at 10:05 am
Dont you know Matt? Anyone that is not from the South is a yankee…. It doesnt really matter where you are from…
February 3rd, 2009 at 6:17 pm
I get that yankee crap all the time too