‘Y’all come see us’ (not really . . .)

When I was a kid, I often heard my parents say, as they parted company with others, “Y’all come see us.

And they meant it.

Now, often, I say the same thing to folks I meet as I travel across the country. And I meant it. Which is why my guest room has a traffic pattern similar to the Atlanta airport.

The difference in Southern and non-Southern hospitality is difficult to explain.

And though I am a writer, supposedly given a natural ability to describe, I find it hard to put into words.

Recently, I traveled six times between three time zones in five days for speaking engagements, zigzagging around the Southeast then zipping cross-country to the West Coast.

It’s always an experience to leave the South and take a bite of non-Southern culture. The difference is similar to that of a hot-just-out-of-the-oven biscuit and a cold, plain bagel.

In the Midwest, I find them very often similar to Southerners – warm, gracious, thoughtful and humble. Of course, they can’t back tease their hair as well as Southern women but, then, who can? That cannot be held against them.

One of my favorite places to work is Kansas City. Though there is no drawl to their words, honey drips from their hearts. It’s always a lovely experience.

Ohio – where my books on Southern women are best-sellers – is much the same. Although, occasionally, I meet a wise-mouth – usually in Columbus or Cleveland, never Cincinnati – who pops off something degrading about the South.

Don’t worry. I always get in the last word.

I smile sweetly and ask, “Did you know that the man who wrote the song, “Dixie” was from Ohio?” A blank look will cross the wise-mouth’s face as I pause for effect. “Sure was. He said that every winter when the harsh cold came, he wished he were in Dixie. So, he wrote a song about his longing to move South.”

Other than the Midwest, the hospitality outside of the South is remarkably different. That’s where the difficulty in explaining comes in. I can’t quite put my finger on the exact difference other than to say Southerners – men and women – ooze with hospitality.

On the West Coast trip, my hotel accommodations weren’t handled, so it was a hassle at check-in for over an hour. No one offered to take me to dinner the night before the event or even called to welcome me. The slightest request of mine was treated begrudgingly.

However, when I returned to the great state of Alabama two days later, I was overwhelmed with hospitality. My hotel suite was filled with fresh flowers arranged in silver mint julep cups (and a note that said the silver cups were mine to keep), a beautifully wrapped gift adorned with a gorgeous bow was placed on my bed plus five women hosted me for a cozy, delicious dinner.

I felt like I had moved from a dark, dank room to a warm, sunny one filled with pretty colors. The contrast was striking. It was similar to stepping out of a cold shower into a hot, fragrant bath.

I finally understand why so many folks move to the South. Who wouldn’t want warmth, kindness and generosity over indifference and blithe inconsideration? Hospitality is innate to our being.

“Folks in the South throw their arms around you literally and figuratively,” commented my friend, Alexis, a Baltimore transplant.

So, my fellow Southerners, we have only ourselves to blame for the population explosion that has pushed our schools and roads to bulging limits and reduced those beautiful farmlands to masses of subdivisions. Who wouldn’t want to live here in this land of goodwill?

If we want to slow growth, we have to stop being so nice, so warm and – especially – so inviting. No more of “Y’all come see us.”

And if they do come, give ‘em a cold shower and an old bagel.