Two Voices

 

There are two voices . . . two sides.

Years ago, my father suggested that I read the book Confederates in the Attic: Dispatches from the Unfinished Civil War (1998) by Pulitzer Prize-winning author Tony Horwitz.  So, I read and enjoyed it.  I read it for several reasons: (1) I like history and was fascinated with the military leaders on both sides of the Civil War—especially Robert E. Lee, as a kid; (2) it was rare that my father suggest a book for me to read, so this must have been important to him; and (3) I didn’t want to disappoint my father.  Motivation comes from many sources in one’s life.

 

My father grew up in the heart of the South—Alabama.  He spoke with what I thought was a Don Meredith drawl—it was there, but not overwhelming.  He used words and phrases that were of Southern colloquialism which still pop up from time to time in my speech.  He was born and raised in the South, but never claimed to be Southern.  He left the South and Alabama as a young adult never to really return.  I once asked him what made a person a Southerner.  He responded, “A state of mind.”  It was all between the ears as far as he was concerned.

 

Horwitz’s book explores his deep interest in the Civil War and the attitudes about the war from both sides.  He travels across the South exploring battlefields, landmarks, joining in re-enactments, interviewing people, to discover the lasting impact and its continuing split within our nation’s history and psyche.  It is worth the effort to read, especially if you are a Civil Wart buff.

 

One of the things that Horwitz reminds his readers of is that not all histories are written equally.  To the victors go the spoils . . . to the winners, the history.  The winners write the history . . . at least the predominant histories that are espoused and taught.  Because of this the story and history of the Civil War are taught from the Northern—the victors—point of view.  That doesn’t meant that there aren’t equal amounts of volumes produced by the South—there are.  It just means that the victors are in control of the narrative for the most part.

 

Basically, what we get is one side of the story.  One point of view.  There is always more than one side to any story.  In fact, there are often many sides to the stories we are taught.  What we learn is not always the whole story.  The beloved radio broadcaster Paul Harvey made a pretty good living with one of his radio shows called Now for the Rest of the Story.  On this show he would share historical events as they were popularly known and then thrown in a wrench to share another side of the story that was less known.  Thus, “the rest of the story.”  I loved the show.

 

Being a bookworm as a kid (still am today), I read whatever the library had about the Civil War.  From the popular to the obscure.  In my reading I was often confused about the battles.  As a kid it seemed like there were lots of battles everywhere—tons of them.  Little did I realize that battles often had two names.  The authors used the name of the battle from the side from which they were writing.  For example, Antietam—bloodiest day in American history with 22,727 dead in battle.  The North tabbed it the Battle of Antietam, while the South called it the Battle of Sharpsburg.  Was it Manassas or Bull Run?  It all comes down to who is telling the story.  If you ever visit Civil War battlefields you will discover that they often have two names displayed even though they are advertised by the names chosen by the victors.

 

So . . . there are two (actually multiple) sides to every story.  There are two voices (probably more) telling the story.  To truly understand, all sides of the story . . . all sides of history . . . need to be heard.  We need to listen . . . to listen to the stories from all points of view . . . from all the participants . . . to get the whole story.  It is not always as simple as we would like it to be.

 

Do you know about the Battle of Greasy Grass from your school studies of our nation’s western movement across the country?  It was the major battle in the Great Souix War of 1876.  It was a turning point in the nation’s dealings with the Native Americans they sought to remove from the territory they wanted.  So, do you know the Battle of Greasy Grass?  Maybe you know it as Custer’s Last Stand.  The battlefield had that name for over a hundred years before the National Park Service changed it to the Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument in 1991.  It was one of the few, if not the only battlefield, named after the losers.  The victors didn’t even get the glory of naming the battlefield . . . nor did they get to tell the story from their side.

 

Another point, those with power . . . those who are in control also get to write the narrative, get to tell the story.  They are not always the victors telling the story.  Remember there are more sides to a story than presented and accepted by the masses.  Check out the Battle of Greasy Grass.

 

This blog is not about history.  It is about stories, how they are told, and how they are heard.  Is the whole story being told?  Or are the stories just one-sided affairs?  Without the rest of the story there can be no truth . . . no understanding.  It takes all the pieces of the puzzle to see the picture.

 

We live our lives through stories.  All parts of our lives have stories . . . religion, politics, economics, education, gender, culture, society . . . even our relationships.  It is not wrong to ask questions and to seek answers whenever we are told a story.  In fact, we should always wonder if there is more to the stories we are being told.  And we must listen.  In listening we learn . . . we understand . . . we grow.

 

There are always two voices . . . two sides to every story.  Yours.  Mine, Ours.  They all deserve to be heard.

A State of Mind

In about two weeks the daughter and son-in-law will officially be residents of the state of Alabama.  They are moving to Fort Rucker where the son-in-law will begin training to be a helicopter for the National Guard.  They will be stationed there for approximately two years.  The rumor is that they are going to become "Southerns"--heaven help the South!

Growing up as a child I remember asking my father what a "Southerner" was, and his answer to me was: "It is all a state of mind, Son."  My father was born and raised in the backwoods of Alabama.  My mother was born and raised in the mountains of North Carolina--both Southerns by birth.  They both talked funny and had that little drawl that seems to manifest itself among those who are from the South.  After the age of 18 neither one of them ever really lived in the South, except for one year when my father was stationed in Georgia.  They never claimed to be Southern, but did admit their Southern heritage. 

The wife is from Kentucky and likes to claim that she is Southern, but I remind her that she is a Mason-Dixon Southerner--sort of a confused individual stuck between two cultures and who can't make up his or her mind which one he or she is.  During the Civil War the citizens of Kentucky couldn't decide which side they were on and were fairly split between the two sides.  We have had a subscription to Southern Living for nearly thirty years, but she likes to buy Yankee Candles--are you seeing the pattern? When she goes back home, she talks funny and with a drawl, beyond her family she talks like a mid-westerner.  As much as the wife would love to claim being a Southern, she is always going to be stuck in that limbo land of being a Mason-Dixoner.

Despite my parents upbringing and heritage, there is very little "Southerner" in me.  I was born in the "south"--southern Massachusetts in a little town called Wareham.  Sounds "Southern" doesn't it?  I never picked up the funny way of talking and I mumble better than I drawl.  I never grew up in the South but do remember the few times that I visited this exotic land to see my grandparents.  I didn't fit in with that side of the family even though I did pick up a few of the Southern expressions my parents used.  I also picked up the nasty habit of dropping "g" off the end of words--something becomes somethin'.  My preaching professor in seminary liked to nail me on that one.  But I am not "Southern" by any stretch of the mind even though I love grits, fried green tomatoes, hush puppies, country ham, and sweet tea.

 
I agree with my father--it is all a state of mind.  I imagine that my daughter will develop a funny way of talking while she lives in Alabama, but they will already think that when she moves there because she is not from there.  I am sure she will develop a love of parts of the Southern culture--she might even develop a taste for Mint Juleps, but I hope her mother and I raised her better than that.  She will adapt in order to survive--mainly because it will become a state of mind.  But that is not who she is and I imagine we can convert her back once she and the husband move back to Montana in about two years.  Then she and the son-in-law will once again be one of us--the ones who people always ask, "Where in the world did you come from?"

We come from a place that is within our hearts that defines who we are.  It is not determined by the accent we have or the way that we mangle words.  It is not defined by where we were born or who we root for in sports.  It is not determined by the food we eat or the way we dress.  It comes from that place within us that makes us feel safe and comfortable--that place that allows us to love--that place that lets us be who God created us to be.  It is all a state of mind--our own minds.

When the daughter and son-in-law return from the South they might sound funny, drink strange drinks, and drop the "g" at the end of words, but the essence of who they are will still be there.  So, for those of you in the South, take good care of the children and return them to us safely--we can handle the funny accent and way of talking (we have good speech therapists here in Montana who can fix that).  In the meantime be prepared, Montanans are pretty stubborn people and they just might change you.  Remember, it is all a state of mind!