As I was having my hair done, in my "Steel Magnolia" salon this morning, there was much chatter about The Help. I read the book, on my trusty Kindle, but haven't seen the movie - the nearest theater is twenty-five miles to the north and fifty miles to the south.
I came of age, in the south, in the early sixties, and I had no knowledge of such self absorbed, narcissistic white women. My dear mother had someone to come in once or twice a week to help, her, but Good Lord, how could anyone with a soul treat another human being with such indignity?
Obviously, we belonged a sub culture of white womanhood, seldom found in novels. We were the majority, we were taught to tend a garden, preserve the bounty from the garden, sew our own clothing, sweep our own floors, cook meals - my mother's mantra was, "Learn to live off the land, you may have to do it one day!". We were taught survival skills, as well as impeccable manners - the value of our extended family and friends, and how to be generous and gracious to everyone.
I really am tired of being stereotyped as a bridge playing, flatware counting, country club going, back stabbing, nose in the air, Southern Belle.
We always felt privileged, because we were southern, and still had hangups regarding the "War of Northern Aggression", but we felt that we had the right to feel that way, as many fortunes were lost, and great poverty ensued in it's aftermath. However, we never felt we had the right to be rude, unkind or disrespectful to anyone, black or white.
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