I can remember when I first started travel nursing that the first thing people noticed about me was my thick, Southern drawl. Heck, even now it’s the way people will differentiate me from others. If I’m not known as the “singing nurse,” then I’m described as the one with a Southern accent. I’ve been called Reba, and if I had a dollar for every person that tried to do an impression of my country twang I could have retired last week.
Yeah, people are not as good at impersonations as they assume, but I’m sure many a Brit would raise an eyebrow at my Monty Python impressions, so I can’t say a word. The thing is, though, if I’m being totally honest, it’s not near as amusing as people assume. Repeating a word I’ve said in your own impression of my pronunciation as you laugh hysterically isn’t funny to me. In fact, it’s eye roll worthy as I fake laugh along. But even now, as I bristle at the harmless prodding at my expense, I don’t react like I used to.
I used to be terribly offended. See, I was born in San Diego, California by a world-traveling mom, and we only moved to Mississippi to settle down when I was about eight. I could have quickly adapted the accent of my local peers, but a part was always held back by my mother’s suggestion. She raised me to enunciate my words, to use a vast vocabulary, and to make a point to sound as educated as possible. She fought hard to ward off her own Southern drawl as it crept into everyday vernacular, as her experience had impressed one, huge thing upon her.
A Southern accent = stupidity.
That was the majority assumption, anyway.
This was what she had experienced. It was what traveling the world had taught her. And as such, she raised me to understand the same. When I began my own world travels so many of the things I encountered nailed home her point. In Naval Bootcamp I achieved the highest scholastic scores among my peers, earning my parents a special seat next to the Chief Officer of the base during my graduation, and allowing me to march at that ceremony in a special company. As we practiced the drill we would execute at our graduation a senior enlisted gentleman commented on my upbringing.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
“Mississippi, Petty Officer,” I replied quickly.
“Well,” he commented in surprise and sarcasm, “I didn’t know they made smart people in Mississippi.”
While I served in the Navy in the Washington, D.C. area I was on the receiving end of reverse racism, with people assuming that since I was from the South, I was automatically a bigot. My mother had hated this aspect the most. She had told me once that people saw movies like Mississippi Burning, and they assumed everyone from that area wanted to wear white hoods and hang black people. In my experience, I even had someone report me to my boss. I had been singing a country love song that came into my head about a man who committed suicide when his girlfriend left him (hey, I didn’t say country songs were known for their great lyrics). The guy in the song hung himself in grief, and the secretary who heard me singing reported to our superior that she feared for her life when she was around me. Because of the accent, where I was from, she assumed my song was something about hanging black people, even though the lyrics never said something even close to that.
This is turning out to be a bit longer than I intended, but I guess I want you to understand why it offended me so much when people poked fun at my Southern accent. In a way, I felt discriminated against for my accent. In my experience, people assumed I was ignorant, racist, uneducated, and the like. My upbringing and my own negative experiences had caused me to be easily offended when my accent was brought to the forefront. I think we all have really good reasons we get offended about things.
As a nurse I’ve gotten offended when a patient is rude. I mean, do they know the responsibilities I handle with limited time and resources? Why are they being angry at me? It’s not my fault they’re sick! I’m just here to help! I don’t deserve such anger aimed at me like an arrow for trying to help!
As a customer I’ve gotten offended. They’re here to serve me. What’s with the attitude?! They must hate their job!
I get offended on the interstate when people cut me off in traffic. I’m going five miles above the speed limit here, buddy!
I can get offended when my husband doesn’t read my mind like a good spouse is supposed to. Doesn’t he know I don’t really mean I’m fine?!
I can especially get offended when people don’t agree with me. As a writer I put out a lot of opinion posts, and not everyone agrees. I’ve had people say some pretty heinous things to me via comments or email. I’ve had people tell me that they feel sorry for my children being raised by me, such an awful person. I’m leaving out the graphic language, mind you. Sometimes I’m so certain that what I’m speaking is truth; I’d bet my life on it! Yet people disagree, and they tell me so quite strongly.
I’ve had close friends and family say or do despicable things to me that have hurt me so badly. I mean, when someone cuts you to the bone, isn’t that a legitimate cause of offense?
