You Don't Call Me Yankee Anymore

Being a former native New Yorker (of the City as well as the state), the term Yankee and New England have more specific meaning. The Yankees (to us) are generally thought of as the folks from the New England states (you know, the tea party, the red-coats are coming, fall foliage, Lizzie Borden, baked beans, witch trials, Pilgrims, Thanksgiving).
New York is not part of New England even though the state does border on parts of New England. But the City does have a team called the Yankees, so we do grab onto the name every now and again. I'm not a sports fan and the closest I come to any of that is wearing a lanyard at work that sports the Baltimore Orioles' name with the logo's black and orange colors.

Yankee
American
noun

1. a native or inhabitant of the United States.
   
   
2. a native or inhabitant of New England.
   
   
3. a native or inhabitant of a northern U.S. state, especially of one of the northeastern states that sided with the Union in the American Civil War.
   
   
4. a federal or northern soldier in the American Civil War.

New England
American
noun

1. an area in the NE United States, including the states of Connecticut, Maine, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Rhode Island, and Vermont.

I have limited contact with folks from the south. And yes, I sometimes refer to it as the Glorious South. And yes, I know that referring to it as the Glorious South could have allusions to the Old South or Deep South. This might evoke images of slavery and cotton production or of admirers of the Confederacy in the late 19th century that live with their created, romanticized, idealized iconography (of the "Lost Cause") that viewed the pre-war South as a "glorious" or honorable era.

But I digress.

I've been living on the west coast since 1985 and my connection with the Atlantic Ocean is really non-existent. I don't get misty-eyed over neighborhoods that are run-down and dangerous to visit just because there was a time in my life when I walked the streets to go to school or to grab a slice of pizza.

I had a penpal from a tiny town in Mississippi on the Alabama border. She grew up in a 'Christian' home with a mother who was a Catholic from Bavaria and a father that was from an unmentioned Protestant religion. She would write of Jesus.

Back in those days, I grew up in a Jewish home. I would write about Friday night dinners, holidays that didn't have the consumption of bread, songs, weddings, funerals, and some good food that was good even without pork in it.

She used to remind me that I was a Yankee. Being called that came with some notions that were not put down in words. We, for example, had different ideas about 'colored people' and the promises of the republican party. We also are of the mind that since there are some people who might not be Christian in a public school, that any references to Christian practices and thought should be avoided. The rationale is that one should respect the separation of church and state. Oh, and add to that, if this is so important to you, you can do as much of it as you would like to at home and on your own time.

She and I have grown apart over the years. I still get a Christmas card from her with photos of her family all dressed in the same outfit. I send her a holiday card in December that might have a cardinal or a snowman on it and no mention of the winter holiday by name. It's sort of a tit-for-tat for her never asking me about Hanukkah or how my family is getting by.

We have never spoken of Israel. And she is aware that I support democracy. From time to time she will visit my Facebook page and look at a current event political statement that I have posted. She never writes anything, but she might leave a laughing face.

She gets a birthday card soon after Christmas (she was born in January). It would be really easy for me to never write to her again, but I've known her for so long that I'd feel strange to just drop her like a(n) hot potato.

Strange when I realize how much I can write about this peculiar acquaintanceship that has existed for about 55 years, but yet I don't consider it worth discussing in therapy.