My Southern Road Trip

I went from Columbus, Ohio to Columbus, Georgia in an ol’ southern pilgrimage and as a follow-up to Understanding in Three Acts. It was time to visit my Georgia-family who raised me for six months when I was a year old. Days when I enjoyed a cloth-diaper and bottled ginger ale (legitimately). I was obviously well-loved.

I packed a week’s worth of things, including food, and got in the car with Norfolk as my destination. Norfolk, not quite as southern, but it is where I entered the New Year with Julian and Jenn. I even had a little bit of bubbly that had a little bit of an effect—I fell soundly asleep.

I embarked on January 2 (Friday) after staying in Norfolk for another day. I looked at my car, my walnuts, and my ipod, took a deep breath, and prepared for 12 road-tripping hours.

I drove. Drove. Drove some more. Continued driving.

Then I made a stop at none other than South of the Border. Who, after all, can deny hundreds of miles worth of signs about Pedro? Pedro needs me! And after six consecutive or so hours of driving I needed Pedro. Plus Jenn essentially dared me to throw away my pride and make a visit. 2009 may be the Shameless Year. (South of the Border is the kitchiest place probably ever.)

I arrived and I began searching for a suitable souvenir for Jenn. Hat Shop? No. Ice Cream Shop? No. Hotel. Big No. Africa Shop? Absolutely. I admittedly was skeptical, since, after all, South of the Border is a parody of its Mexican self. I only hoped that I didn’t see the sales-clerks in Kunte-Kente cloth. As it turns out there was a sizeable carved art collection (including masks) supposedly from Kenya and Cote de Ivoire. I selected a stone box. Once satisfied with my choice I did what any reasonable person would who found themselves inside world’s most hyped crapshoot.: I went to the arcade. I had to stare down the 7 year old who was coveting my Skee-ball tickets. (I’m actually not serious—you would never receive all of your entitled tickets there.) I ended up discreetly leaving my tickets at a racing game. Perhaps a disappointed child can redeem them for a plastic parachuter.

South of the Border is located just when you reach the South Carolina border. I made it to Augusta, Georgia (just at the Georgia border). I stayed overnight at the Clarion Suites prepared to drive four hours to Columbus for my family weekend. (How do you know you’re from a southern family? You have about eighteen relatives to call assuring them that you’re doin’ alright : ) I arrived the next morning (Saturday) to my Auntie Roslyn’s home where Courtney (my cuz) greeted me.

For the Woody-Howard-Cary family tree (that I now know). I have three great aunts (Auntie Roslyn, Rea, and Nay) who have four children among them (cousins Shamar, Shamice, Roderick, and Courtney; the latter two are Roslyn’s children; and Auntie Nay has no children). As with most families there are half-siblings, unknown children, and shot-guns marriages, but unique to southern families, we don’t talk about any of ‘em. I was happy to patch the family history together best I could.

I hadn’t seen my cousins during my adult life so I had no expectations. But damn. They were all real cool—two cousins are artists (musician and cinematographer). Cousin Courtney (the cinematographer) knew everything about everything, particularly films. We bonded over boutique foreign films all weekend. His worldview was too big for little Columbus.

I made the most of my weekend stay. Our conversation staples were law school and more so, veganism. Of course I prepared my explanation in two parts. First, I don’t eat meat (hmm) and second, I didn’t eat any dairy (uh oh). No animals or by-products. And yes, that includes fish. Veganism, as it turned out, was a hit! Even if it was not fully understood, folks appreciated trying to smart-up their southern food lifestyle. Sure, you can enjoy a few cans of beer or scotch, with your barbeque, but your day should also include a fistful of almonds, and an extra helping of greens. (By the way, I had the yummiest tomato-corn-okra salad by Auntie Rea—their side was my very tasty meal.)

On Sunday night, in particular, we ate, talked, and were merry, southern style. Everyone came over, shared the latest about town and neighbors, and punctuated our conversation with fits of roarin’ laughter. Life is hard but you gotta laugh about it. Better yet I was able to have a heart-to-heart with Auntie Roslyn. She shared her opinions about her life, relationships, and family. We even talked about our respective faiths, in which she related to me a Christian lesson and I related to it with a Buddhism one.

One of best things were my Auntie’s reaction to my “new look.” On separate occasions, each Auntie spotted me, inspected me upon first glance, had me turn around, and patted my bottom, mentioning that I had lost most of my booty. (It’s true.) Each said I was skinny but that I still looked healthy. If I ever have their disapproval I’ll know something is wrong.

I had a grand time.

Monday morning it was time to return. DC is the place with which I am familiar, but Columbus felt like another sort of home. Georgia (and the South) are where my people are from. I also have people in Ohio but I honestly feel more deeply connected to southern life, most likely because my regional identity is most tied to Virginia. In this celebratory vein I was sure to pick-up five cases of Foise (Georgia hot sauce) for my mother at the Phenix City, Alabama, Piggly Wiggly, and peach salsa in Gaffney, South Carolina en route to Norfolk.

I’m back in DC fully satisfied about re-establishing connections, and re-cultivating roots with folks who love me, and who always have. No other place I could be so embraced, so unconditionally. A rare find.