Tennessee Nostalgia

It has been well over four years since I moved from East Tennessee, where I grew up and spent my young adulthood, to start my new life here in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Not much here reminds me of Tennessee, but a few things do. One of those few things is the strip on Philadelphia’s South Street, which never ceases to remind me of Main Street in Nashville. Of course, it isn’t exactly like Main Street – each has stores of the kind that the other doesn’t really have much of. And while I believe that the Country Music Hall of Fame is on Nashville’s Main Street, none of the many noteworthy things in Philadelphia that I know of are on South Street, and certainly not on the strip of South Street with which I am most familiar and with which I am making this comparison. Nonetheless, every time that I walk this strip, the resemblance it has to Main Street simply blows me away.

Another time that I was reminded of Tennessee, this time my childhood home of East Tennessee in particular, was when I saw the Arden Theater’s production of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The way that the set was decorated reminded me of the inside of Cotton Eyed Joe’s. Then, when the play started, the costumes, and even the music reminded me of my old home. A lot of the drama took place in the woods – but anyone who has truly been there knows that East Tennessee has plenty of that too.

For some reason, the accent that the characters spoke in was the one thing that wasn’t East Tennessee. The selection of just this to place outside of Southern Appalachia struck me as odd, because the Appalachian accent is generally considered to go very well with Shakespearean text.

The funny thing is – in these instances, when I am reminded of my childhood home, I do not feel terror, dread, or any negative emotions. Rather, what I feel is nostalgia. You might not think that this is in any way strange, except for the fact that East Tennessee was not a hospitable place for me to grow up. You’ve all heard of something called “Southern Hospitality” – however, the most common version is only extended so long as you fit into a rather narrow view of what is deemed as acceptable down there. Racial minorities are routinely discriminated against down there – and the persecution of other minorities, such as the LGBT population, exists to a degree that is unheard of in other parts of the United States. As a Jewish trans-woman with an at-the-time-undiagnosed case of autism, what I experienced wasn’t so much Southern Hospitality, but rather, Southern Hostility. I had no future there, and lived in a constant state of fear.

This is why the first chance that I got to move out, I did. This is why I haven’t been back there since a few months after I moved out – and the only reason why I was there those few times in those first few weeks was to fulfill certain moving-out errands that I couldn’t get out of. It is why last September, when my parents and I traveled to Los Angeles, I breathed a sigh of relief when, thanks to a storm, our flight was rerouted so that out intermediate stop would be in Minneapolis rather than Atlanta – because I was uncomfortable setting foot in that region of the country even if I would be inside an airport the entire time.

Given how unsafe I would feel setting foot anywhere in that region, one might wonder why being reminded of Tennessee fills me with any emotion other than abject terror. This is clearly a contradiction in behavior – but not really one that is unique to me at all. It was less than a year ago that I was speaking with a Jew from Russia who explained to me that many Jews who escaped Russia, despite feeling uncomfortable with the idea of returning to Russia, even for a visit, tend to be very nostalgic for Russia and things Russian. She mentioned to me that this might be difficult for other people to understand.

I, however, explained to her that I understood that perfectly – because that is exactly how I feel about East Tennessee. When I fled East Tennessee, I was fleeing from the extreme backward, anti-scientific mindset that dominates the people of the area and from the intolerant behavior and legislation that results from that. What I was not fleeing from, other hand was the breathtaking beauty of the scenery of the Appalachian Temperate Forest that even permeates the towns within it. Nor was it the way way people dress or the way that they talk down there that I was fleeing from – nor the sweet sound of the music down there.

I only left because I was fleeing for my future – and ultimately for my life. That’s right – it is unlikely that had I remained in East Tennessee, I would even be alive today. At some level, I even knew that before I left. That didn’t change the fact that leaving was the most difficult decision that I have ever made in my entire life.

This is because, even when I am fleeing for my life – you can take me out of Southern Appalachia, but you can’t take Southern Appalachia out of me.