Damn Yankees

When I first moved to North Carolina, I found myself living in a town called Whiteville. From the moment I arrived in town I felt the icy stares of the local people, burning through every inch of my body. I seemed to be the center of attention walking through the local Wal-Mart. “You ain’t from around here” was the most common statement I received when trying to communicate with people in town. For some time I could not figure out why it was that wherever I went, people would only stare at me. No one introduced themselves to me, no one welcomed me to the neighborhood, and no one said more than two words to me. I knew I did not fit in with my Red Sox hat, dry accent, and rushed walk. I am what is known as a Damn Yankee. I don’t play baseball and I wasn’t a member of the band. I just happen to come from the Northern part of the country.

In Whiteville, everybody knows everybody. The older residents all grew up with each other. On Sunday mornings, the town seems deserted because everyone is in church. I lived alone in Whiteville for eight months, and very few people ever warmed up to me. Since I worked 40 miles out of town, it was difficult to find people to hang out with up in Whiteville. I was actually quite shocked at how rude people were to me for no other reason other than the fact that they didn’t know who I was. I saw the ugly side of many good people, but most of all I saw their fear.

Another few months passed and I found myself working in Whiteville, due to a job transfer. After a month of working with some of the residents, I gained some good friends, people I still keep in touch with today. Once people got a chance to know me and work with me, the stereotypes that I was oppressed for became nothing more than wise cracks. As for the rest of the town, I never won any popularity contests but I think the town residents got a little more comfortable with me being around. Even when I go back and visit today, I still get a few stares from unfamiliar people, but I don’t even pay attention. What was once uncomfortable to me has come to be expected.

Human beings are naturally curious. There is nothing wrong with curiosity but when combined with fear, the mix of emotions can be dangerous. I have seen several different stereotypes and experienced many. The truth of the matter is that people are the same all over. I find that people rarely travel out of their comfort zone by themselves. Fear controls their lives and in many ways prevents them from experiencing new aspects of life. But to me, none of it matters. The only thing that matters to me is how I perceive my existence, not how others do.