I’m from the Midwest. A place of commonsense people who work hard and really do have to see it to believe it. We’re a “pull ourselves up by our bootstraps” kind of people.
And I love the Midwest. Sometimes, I get homesick for it—for flat miles of fields of corn, cotton, and soybeans where you can see for miles. For simplicity and honesty. For the patch of light shining out on the wood planks of the porch when I drive in to my parents’ driveway, the symbol that someone is waiting for me to come home, someone is happy I’m here.
But the South. Oh, the South. You really are different from the Midwest.
I grew up with some amazing men, but you Southern Gentlemen, you’ve got a good thing going.
This morning, I had to drop my car off at the dealership for routine maintenance—which meant riding the courtesy van to work. (Granted, it is fairly close and I could have walked, but it’s kind of hot, I’m wearing heels and I have a lot to carry.)
As I waited to board the bus, one of you (Southern Gentlemen) kindly offered me the front seat. Another of you made sure I was inside the car and carefully shut the door behind me.
I live by myself. There aren’t a lot of people going out of their way to offer me good seats or open and close doors for me. In some ways, I think the Southern Gentleman is a dying breed, because I don’t see him out at malls, shows, or around town much.
But the chivalry and courtesy of the whole thing made me smile. Plus, it also made me feel cared for and reminded me of my dad, which is always a good thing.
So, thank you, Southern Gentlemen. May your tradition of honoring women continue.