My dad, who comes across well (if repetitive), recently was on the phone with me while we discussed the escapades of one of my children. The conversation turned and meandered as it does when I talk with just about anyone, finally landing on whether I liked the South.
I was raised, more or less, in Jacksonville, Alabama. Many of my memories have that land as the setting. The atmosphere, however, was not terribly southern. Jacksonville sat at a weird crossroads of military, academic, and redneck worlds. I treasure few moments that I had there, mostly due to the rednecks. While I bare no ill-will to the folk that populate it currently, I don't have a particular fondness for the place I lived for 13 years.
My father disagrees. After all, how can one not love the land of one's birth? It's just natural.
First, as a firmly entrenched member of the Generation Ennui, let me offer the standard: "whatever." Second of all, I fail to see how one can get sentimental about dirt. I don't care how long I sit/stand/sleep on that dirt. And I worry that anyone can maintain nationalism as a good thing. It's only as good as the motivation it provokes, and even then I can probably think of better sticks to whack people with.
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Most of the kids I knew in Alabama were all sorts of proud to be there (the natives were. The military kids almost invariably reacted negatively). I tend to see the U.S. as a better place to live than most, but it's not because I value the land.
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