Vivien Leigh as Blanche DuBois, who "always depended on the kindness of strangers" and might have done better to depend on the kindness of Southerners
I was born without the kindness gene. Ask anyone who knew me before I turned 40.
Kindness has been on my mind since reading Nancy Kraft’s recent blog on the congenital kindness of Southerners as reflected in what I will call Southern speak. Nancy deals with the full range of Southern speak. It’s a great read and you should check it out now to provide context for this blog, but promise me you’ll come back for my random thoughts on the kindness of Southerners.
Nancy — being Not Southern, bless her heart — says straight out that those of us who grew up in these parts have learned to value kindness over honesty. I think that’s insightful, no matter how much we might bristle over having our honesty called into question.
Let’s assume for the moment that she’s right. Being taught congenital kindness from the cradle, with all the graciousness and gentility that may come with it, also might have introduced us to the art of the little white lie. Maybe for some of us gbeing dishonest — and please understand, I’m using that term in a purely hypothetical way — has become preferable to being bluntly honest because we find it easier to deal with a guilty conscience than to deal with conflict.
Maybe dishonesty got entangled with Southern speak when we heard our momma’s say, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything.” Rather than learning to keep quiet, we learned to say something nice even if it was a stretch.
From a more positive perspective, maybe learning the ”if you can’t say something nice…” thing taught us to zero in on the things that are nice. We don’t necessarily want to tell someone that we loathe her green bean casserole and wish we could ban her for life from ever again bringing it to a single family/church/neighborhood gathering. Instead, we nibble at it and tell her how much her green bean casserole reminds us of the one Aunt Alma used to make and takes us right back to our childhood. If there’s a degree of truth in it, does it really hurt to tell her that instead of answering straight out when she asks if she should bring her casserole again this year?
So maybe Southern speak has led us down the path of little white lies. Or maybe in looking for ways to say it in complimentary terms instead of speaking the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, we’re trying to find a small measure of truth and grace. I’m not sure that’s a bad thing, although I can certainly see how it disrupts intimacy and, perhaps worst of all, leaves us eating a lot of green bean casserole.
Right on, and thank you, coach!