I am a daughter of the south. My parents were born and raised in Tennessee, but once they married and started their own family, they moved my siblings and I from one corner of the south to the other.
Florida. Georgia. The Carolinas. Kentucky. Tennessee, again and again. My very first SEC football game was cheering for my father’s cousin who played at Mississippi State. I was a mere toddler at the time. When I grew older and graduated high school, I – myself – went to college in Alabama.
So I think I’ve pretty much got the south covered.
When people refer to Southern blood, I truly think they actually believe it to be a medically proven blood type. A blood type consisting of sweet tea and casseroles, old-school manners and even older traditions.
But a spoonful of southern can be spicy. Or sweet. And sometimes even shameful. More prejudice than pride. And my narratives are my own personal literary attempt at unpacking those spoonfuls – my memories of her, of me, of my family. Sometimes beautiful. Sometimes bruised. But always with the good intentions of trying to better understand my love/hate relationship with this land and the people who call her home.