Living in the South hasn't always been as laid-back as some make it out to be.
Dangerous riots, Klu Klux Klan violence, piercing gunshots, and wailing children are just a few of the thoughts, sounds and images that come to mind when I think of the history in which this part of the United States is steeped.
Yes, there has been a lot of bad.
But if you look from another perspective, there has also been a lot of good.
I'll be the first to admit that below the Mason-Dixon Line, Southern women and Southern football are held alike in high esteem.
The drawl of any one person as he or she greets another rolls off the tongue as sweetly as the tea we like to drink.
I myself have read articles written by people from "up North" that go to schools like Auburn, Clemson and even Arkansas who nostalgically and quizzically recall their first moments on their new campuses, where manners and pride abound and dwell, even today.
When I think of the region where I live, I don't think of hate.
I don't think of ridicule or slander.
Nor do I think of the Dixie flag that represents the heritage we all appreciate and the progressiveness of the society we've come to know.
I think of the good that is in all of us, of those Southern Living magazines sprawled across every living room table, and how it has always been my goal to represent the tradition that exists in those magazines, in my family, and in every football stadium across the Southeast region with respect and with honor.
I think of the seersucker pants, the pleated khakis, the bright pearls and sundresses, and the loafers and blazers that are worn on the bodies of any Southern man or woman, whether the outing be a church service, the Kentucky Derby, or even the Iron Bowl between Auburn and Alabama.
Besides these commonalities, I also think of my grandmother. I think of the warm, sweet feeling that presses into my chest and throughout my soul when I steer my Jeep off the interstate coming home from school, gazing out the window to see those monstrous green combines rolling through the fields harvesting crops, and the smile that creases my face when I round that last curve and see my family's barn, the one in which my great-great-grandmother was born, and the pond that sits behind it as still as the day is long.
I think of the rusty old Ford that my great-grandfather used to steer around his hometown of Trenton, Tennessee, and the way I used to bounce up and down on the bench seat beside him as I heard stories and a laugh that I now hold closer to my heart than ever after his passing in 2012.
I think of the family pride that we all possess and the willingness that one has to defend his or her family's name when the Southern values that we hold in such high esteem are questioned or ridiculed.
I think of a quote from Gone With the Wind that reads, "Raising good cotton, riding well, shooting straight, dancing lightly, squiring the ladies with elegance and carrying one's liquor like a gentleman were the things that mattered," and upon reading that, my heart swells with as much pride as it does when my beloved Vols burst through the "T" for a well-lit night game in our infamous Neyland Stadium.
The reason why I'm equally proud of both of these recollections is simple.
They are both ways in which I've been brought up, in ways of manners and elegance and in ways of passion and love of God, family, and down-home, smash mouth SEC football.
It's not every day in New York that you see a pretty girl in pearls giving an innocent referee a hard time over a game-changing call, but believe me when I say that occurs every Saturday around here.
It's not every day that you witness 100,000 people singing along to war hymns and fight songs alike before bowing in deep, unchanging reverence to the God we have all been taught (and have learned ourselves) to love without question, but we don't consider it all too unusual, either.
We appreciate the past, and we look forward to the future.
We like monograms if we're girls, and we appreciate guns if we're guys. If you aren't from here, you probably at least know that by now.
But here's what you may not know.
It's so much more than that.
It's riding around on backroads with the Jeep top off, hair whipping in the wind.
It's the tailgate before those precious football Saturdays where we fellowship and chat with friend and foe alike, showing that famous Southern hospitality wherever we go.
It's the knowledge that we are who we are and the appreciation of what we have, even if that may not be a lot.
It's the willingness to appreciate what we have without sacrificing the standard those before us have set, and it's the ability to recognize a Southern drawl and the smell of anything made from scratch from a mile away.
It's being raised up beneath the shade of a Georgia pine because you know that's home.
It's living a little, loving a lot, and appreciating those "Long Hot Summers" for as long and as hot as we can.
It's God, it's sweet tea, it's family tradition, and it's the SEC.
It's chicken fried, it's a Friday night, and it's a pair of jeans that fits just right.
More than anything else, however, it's the ability to always be in a "Southern state of mind," and I for one have never been prouder than now to say that it is and will always be "Home Sweet Home to Me."
In the words of Drew Holcomb, "I was born here and raised here, and I'll make my grave here. It's home."
And if you just so happen to take a "gander" around what I know and love, from Georgia to Tennessee and North Carolina to Alabama, chances are higher than our beloved, sweeping magnolias that it'll become your home too.
