Why I Won't Move Back to the South

From July 2 to 7, I was in Nashville, TN for DH's family reunion. The reunion was for his mother's side of the family, and many of the cousins there he hadn't seen for 25-40 years. His maternal grandfather had settled in Macon, GA, and the states of South Carolina, North Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, and Texas were heavily represented. So, his family has become southerners by default over the years.

It takes a long time to become a southerner. I lived with DH in S. Carolina for over 12 yrs, and I never managed it. He was originally from Maryland, and had moved there 20 yrs earlier than I did, and was not fully assimilated (I'm pretty sure if he had been, we wouldn't have been together this long). We've been in WI for 14 yrs now, and I think it only took about 2-3 yrs, 5 max for us to be assimilated. It's easy to point out the clique-ishness, how the famed "hospitality" is superficial, the conservative politics, the preponderance of churches, and the ever-lasting racial prejudice. They'll nice you to death, and call you hon or shug, but they'll tear you apart at the least sign of non-conformance. The first thing you're asked upon meeting someone new is "where do you go to church?" If you're not part of the flock, you're fair game for whatever chicanery or moral judgment they feel like imparting. Do I sound bitter or cynical? In over 12 yrs, I became truly close to one person other than DH, and she was originally from Ohio. This wasn't for lack of trying, but I am and always will be a California-tree-hugging-liberal-bisexual- Yankee-feminist. I will never be enough of a southern belle to live comfortably in that culture, no matter how many servings of grits, fried okra or greens I consume.

Recently, DH has been making noise about missing the south and his family, and wondering if we might migrate back there "someday." My gut reaction was "HELL NO" with all of the above flooding my brain at the mere suggestion. And yet, I miss the magnolias and dogwoods and azaleas something fierce. My dad is there with his steps and step-grands in addition to DH's family. "How bad could it be?" whispers the little voice in my head. And then we go to Nashville.

We had a lovely time, mostly. It would have been better with about half the rain (rained steadily for all but our arrival and departure days). The downtown, touristy area was fun, with live music in every venue, and surprisingly tasty local brews. The scenery was pretty, the traffic was annoying, but aside from downtown areas, there is no walking or biking to your destination. The south is more spread out and sprawling and reliant on automobiles than even California. But. There were two encounters with DH's family members that snapped me right back to reality:

1. I spent a fair amount of time chatting with a cousin who is one year older than me, so you'd think we'd have some things in common. And we did. She asked me a lot about my job, and I was happy to discuss it. She grasped the concept of what I do and what my company does pretty quickly and had thoughtful questions. When she asked why we moved to WI, I explained I was transferred by my job of the time, and we loved it so much that when that job ended, we stayed. The next day, she had an equally interesting chat with DH, centered on his bone marrow transplant and how grateful we are that we ended up in such a stellar location for the treatment of his type of cancer. After which, she came up to me and said, "I thought you told me you moved for your job, but after talking to DH, I now know you moved for his medical condition." I reiterated that we did move for my job, and it was several (7) years after the move that he was diagnosed and treated. His health had nothing to do with our decision to move or stay. She would have none of it. We had moved for him and his reasons alone. God had put us on that path. I had forgotten how easily my wants or needs or talents would be dismissed for the male-based narrative of the southern culture. I spent a few more frustrating minutes trying to right her misconception, and then gave up. I left that encounter feeling that even the fact that I'm a rock star at my job, which allows me to fund/finance all the medical drama of the past 7 yrs has no merit. I only have this job so that DH could survive his tribulations, it has nothing to do with my ability.

2. We brought a bottle of Bos Meadery Pomegranate Pyment to share with certain family members we knew would appreciate it (mostly all are DH's nephews and nieces). I was carrying it around and pouring out samples to whomever wanted, when one of DH's uncles expressed interest.
"What is mead?"
"It's honey wine, would you like to try some?" I went into my usual spiel about mead, and how this is called pyment because it also has fruit added. He kept staring at the label, and finally asked, "but why do they call it a 'meadery'?"
"Because that's the name of a place that makes mead."
"But why don't they call it a winery?"
"Because it's not really wine, it's made from honey, so it's called mead." At this point I felt like I was conversing with a toddler. The uncle was older of course, but he was by no means doddering. In fact, he's still a practicing Dr.
"Well I had no idea they could grow grapes up in Wisconsin."
"Um. There are no grapes in mead. It's fermented honey. This has pomegranate for flavoring, but no grapes."
"But isn't Wisconsin to cold for grapes?"
"Actually, we have some thriving wineries in Wisconsin, but this isn't wine. It's mead." He finished his sample and wandered away, which seriously was a good call on his part, as I was about to go postal with frustration.

And that's it in a nutshell. No matter how knowledgeable or skillful I am on any given topic, my gender automatically trumps all cards. No man will follow a woman out of the south for her job, and mansplaining is a way of life. If there are mixed genders in the conversation, then no matter what, the man will be the most knowledgeable and informed and have the most correct opinions. After that, knowledge and veracity are assigned by age. The younger person will never contribute anything of worth to the conversation, much less win an argument. Knowing what I know, feeling what I feel, why would I ever voluntarily live there again?

eta: DW isn't letting me use the rich text editor, and it's also not taking my html for the cut tag. argh.