Recently I found myself enjoying the company of a friendly group of millennials relaxing together outdoors on a late summer afternoon. In the middle of our light conversation a duo of iridescent dragonflies made a sudden appearance.  The brilliant green and electric blue colors were dazzling in the afternoon sunlight.  For a few seconds no one said a word.  Then, before I could catch myself, I simply uttered out loud, “Look, snake doctors….”  

 It even surprised me.  I hadn’t said the two words “snake doctor” together in as sentence since my childhood.  The young people who heard me glanced at one another telegraphing giant question marks by their facial expressions.  All I could say was, “Oh, sorry, that’s what I called dragonflies when I was a child.”   Of course, a millennial had to ask the inevitable question, “Why?”

I’m not really sure why.  I do know that growing up in my small town of Ashland, that’s what they were– snake doctors.  “Dragonfly” was as strange to me then, as the King James Version is to a Christian millennial now.  Of course I knew what a dragonfly was, but the word seemed far too formal.

“Look, a snake doctor!”  At least in MY childhood mind, that meant there was a snake nearby.  We usually saw them hovering around the slow flowing parts of the creek that ran through our property– especially in the shady areas. That was also where water snakes and water moccasins hung around– so perhaps someone back in the day connected the dots and decided it was truth:  “See a snake doctor?  Beware of the snake!”

My life is filled with similar Southernisms.  In graduate school, I talked to man who was an expert in linguistics.  He could ask a few questions of anyone in the South and then make an educated guess at where they had grown up– within 50 miles.  He showed me a picture of a man holding a burlap bag and asked, “When you were a child, what did you call this?”  I quickly responded, “A tow sack.”   Then he showed me a picture of a green garden hose— “…and this?”  I answered, “A hose pipe.”

In seconds he responded with, “You probably grew up in East Central Alabama– maybe in Talladega, Clay, Randolph, or Shelby county.  He wasn’t surprised when I told him I hailed from Clay County.  In most other places it’s called a burlap sack, burlap bag, gunny sack, guinea sack, tote bag, or tote sack.  But in east central Alabama, we called it tow sack, although most spell it, “toe sack.”

In my family– the Sims and the Nichols– we had our own “vocabulary” and our own set of “sayings.”   Our conversation may have sounded odd to an outsider, but they were loaded with meaning to us.  Let me share a few of my mother’s favorites:

Mom didn’t like it when a politician, a Hollywood star, or powerful figure came across on the television screen as arrogant or prideful– or when a guilty party tried to act innocent.  Hundreds of times I heard her say, “Look at him, just  grinning like a chessy cat!”  [From Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland– meaning a broad and sometimes fake grin]

When any lady or girl was acting arrogant or prideful, Mom described her as “sitting up there like Miss Astor Butt.”  [The J.J. Astor family was a proud, filthy rich family of the late 19th century– meaning an elite, snobby woman.]  If my younger sister Donna ever “sassed” Mom, she wasted no time in taking down her teen-aged smart mouth with that one.

When I acted like a “know-it-all,” she pointed her finger at me and declared, “Mark, you don’t know bood’lim squat!”  [meaning you are clueless]

As a little tyke, my sister could throw down a mean temper tantrum– especially when I pushed her buttons– which I did often.  Mom described her as “having a hissy with a pongee tail.”  [a hissy fit is a hysterical, emotional temper tantrum; ‘hissy’ probably comes from “hysterical,” or possibly comes from the “hissing” sound of an angry snake]  Wow.  That’s what I call descriptive!

Now, a lot of people are familiar with the term “hissy” but the addition of “with a pongee tail” is not common, except in the Nichols clan, and probably goes back for generations.  I remember my Grandma Nichols using it, and she had heard it from generations before her!  I did some research and discovered this:  [“pongee” is natural colored Chinese silk, which probably indicates trying to put a smooth, silky face on an ugly temper tantrum; or possibly just the act of “showing your tail.”]  Of course Mom never knew where “pongee” came from, but it sure added a nice zing to describing a hissy fit! 

All in all, communication must have meaning, and I grew up in a family where it happened– often– and there was no misunderstanding of what had been said.  The rest of the world might not get it, but we did.  And that’s what mattered.

Mom was right, and God’s Word agrees:

“Do you see a person wise in their own eyes? There is more hope for a fool than for them.”   Proverbs 26:12

Thanks Mom.

NEXT WEEK:  More Southernisms and Sayings