Travels with Joy - A Journey to the Place of My Birth
I am a transplant. My accent tells it all. It's a cross between a mid western accent and a southern accent with a hint of British and a few French words thrown in to give it spice. The phrase I hear most often from locals comes in a variety of forms and goes something like this: "You ain't from 'round her, are ya?" "You aren't from here, are you?" "Vous etes Americaine?" "You must be an American." Sometimes I feel I don't belong. I grew up in the Midwest, so at the core of my being, I'm a Yankee. I spent several years overseas, both in France and England, but the majority of my adult life, I've lived in the South.
When I'm in the South, my accent tells the locals, I really don't belong. When I go home to the North, the hint of the South Carolina accent in my speech tells my Midwestern family and friends that I really don't belong there any more.
Nevertheless, I am happy. To keep my sanity, and whenever the opportunity presents itself, I join my mother (another transplant), and we head back to our home in the Chicago area, visit my sister and reconnect with our roots.
As I write this, I'm sitting in hotel room somewhere between South Carolina and Illinois on my way back to my homeland. We will visit the relatives, mourn the destruction of the family home, and take in a few of our favorite sites in the city. We'll eat food we can't get in the South, and watch my sister and her husband devour the boiled peanuts we bought along a roadside stand.
I've never quite understood why it is, but these occasional treks to my homeland help me regain a sense of balance and center. In the next few days, I'll update you on my travels and perhaps give you a glance at what makes me tick.
When I'm in the South, my accent tells the locals, I really don't belong. When I go home to the North, the hint of the South Carolina accent in my speech tells my Midwestern family and friends that I really don't belong there any more.
Nevertheless, I am happy. To keep my sanity, and whenever the opportunity presents itself, I join my mother (another transplant), and we head back to our home in the Chicago area, visit my sister and reconnect with our roots.
As I write this, I'm sitting in hotel room somewhere between South Carolina and Illinois on my way back to my homeland. We will visit the relatives, mourn the destruction of the family home, and take in a few of our favorite sites in the city. We'll eat food we can't get in the South, and watch my sister and her husband devour the boiled peanuts we bought along a roadside stand.
I've never quite understood why it is, but these occasional treks to my homeland help me regain a sense of balance and center. In the next few days, I'll update you on my travels and perhaps give you a glance at what makes me tick.
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