Member-only story
I live in The South. I have for decades now. And I love The South. You will never find me living above The Mason Dixon Line again. Ever.
I tell people who ask — “No, I wasn’t born here, but I got here as soon as I could.” Because this is where I grew into Real Ann. And the weather. Oh, and North Carolina Beaches. So yeah, going nowhere.
But I’m not here to talk about The South. I’m here to talk about White Privilege. Specifically MY Privilege. Because mine is particularly interesting.
It is rather related to my zip code — I doubt I would have quite so much of it heaped upon me if I was still a Yankee. But in The South — I am Everyone’s Granny or Momma.
I am addressed as Ma’am all the time.
Doors magically open for me if I pause on a threshold.
People — mostly young men — let me in front of them in line.
But here in lies the most powerful bit of all — I am the least likely of ANY demographic in this county to be pulled over or harmed in any way by law enforcement.
In fact, I have been stopped for speeding twice in my RED car in the twenty plus years I’ve lived here. Both occasions I was given warnings. The one time it had to be a written warning because of something or another and the deputy was beside himself apologizing about the…
