W'all

As you all know, I love writing about the south and its little, let's call them, 'idiosyncrasies'. The south is just a wonderful place to live for a closeted anthropologist as myself. Just think about the fact that we drink sweet tea, eat fried green tomatoes, and pronounce Cairo as K-ro. Exactly, the fun just never ends. But in spite of all my academic posturing, I do have to admit that I too am slowly becoming more southern. The other day, when a co-worker suggested I check university policy for something, and I told him not to worry about that, as this was how it has always been done, it took a long hard stare on his part for me to realize that this was not how business is handled are written in the rest of the world. Or this weekend, when a friend asked me if I spoke French, and my "Yeah" apparently had such a southern intonation, husband-dear almost chocked on his pizza. But in spite of all that, most everything about the south still amazes me, including my own scary ability to assimilate.

Now I always thought it was different for my family members. For one thing, they don't write blogs. Seriously, husband-dear doesn't even have a Facebook page, so for those of you who have been holding your breath waiting on a blog from him, start breathing, because it's not happening. Anyway, my point is that my family thus does not take out all this time to consider the world they live in. They just live and shut up about it. So one would think that their assimilation occurs a lot more smoothly. One in this case referring to me. And me was wrong.

You see, yesterday, as we were on our way to get some ice cream (because that's what Georgians do when it's cold), our two boys had the most interesting conversation.
Jimmie (our youngest, the guitar-prodigy) asked his older brother Ozzie (named so due to his uncanny ability to seem completely out of touch with just about everything) why southerners say "y'all" and not "w'all".

"I mean, seriously, "Jimmie said, "y'all is dumb to begin with, but then if you're going to say it, you should at least be consistent about it, and say w'all instead of we all."
"That's cause they're stupid." The oldest said, "I don't ever want to talk like a southerner." (which was made more endearing by the fact that he pronounced it as "suthahner")
Jimmie replied, "Me either. I ALWAYS say you guys. Never y'all. Y'all is lame."

Just for the record, husband-dear, myself, and assorted friends and family say "y'all" on an extremely regular basis, so I have NO idea where this came from. I am guessing that some of it has something to do with Ozzie's Aspergian tendencies, and his related ability to observe the oddest things ("did you know that the word blues was developed..." is not an uncommon statement at our dinner table), which may have rubbed off on his younger brother.

However, the two boys were not done yet. Apparently, the way southerners talk is not all that is wrong with them, as Jimmie continued,
"And what is UP with people wearing woodland camouflage? I mean, seriously."
At this point, husband-dear decides to slowly start introducing the idea of tolerance, and says, "well, some people wear it for hunting, bud"
Ozzie chimed in, "Yeah, and that makes like no sense either! Grandpa said that deer can't see, but that they can tell there's humans there based on their smell. And that's why deerhunters cover themselves with deer and fox urine." (for those of who always wondered why Walmart sells cans of animal urine, that's why).
Jimmie was not be discouraged, "Yeah, and still doesn't explain why people wear camouflage to walmart. I mean, it's WALMART. There are no deer there. All they do is look dumb."
Ozzie: "And southern."
Jimmie: "Yeah, and southern."

Of course, husband-dear and I stepped in at this point and had a long pedagogical discussion about tolerance and not judging people by their looks ("Ozzie, some people think you're satanic because you wear shirts with skulls and bones on them, is that right?",), but part of me wishes we could have just let them rant on. I mean, this was intriguing! Here were our two kids, raised by two (or three, I suppose) people for whom "nothing is stupid everything is different" is their life motto, and yet they come up with "w'all". Do they read our minds when we're asleep at night? Or are they just right? I don't know, but I may just tell them to start writing a blog about it.