Stop assuming I’m a redneck just because I’m from Nashville

Introductions are part of the landscape here. Especially at the beginning of Freshman year. There are a few go-to questions everyone asks to get acquainted and to make connections.

What’s your name? What college are you in? What do you want to study? What classes are you taking? And inevitably…Where are you from?

And I proudly tell them that I’m from Nashville, Tennessee.

And the question that follows even more inevitably is, “But wait, why don’t you have an accent?”

Well, dear stranger, I don’t have an accent because I live in a city just like any other (although admittedly way cooler than most). I don’t have an accent because my dad is from Canada, my mom is from Chicago and I can count on one hand the number of people I know who have real, authentic Southern accents.

The number of people I know who fake a Southern accent to fit in with the country music scene far supersedes that number.

And that’s a good introduction to the next inevitable question, if the person knows anything about my hometown.

Do you like country music?

And it’s a valid question. Really, it is. I run into country music artists on a regular basis. I once parked (very poorly) next to Keith Urban while he was dropping his daughter off at our dance studio.

The Kings of Leon nearly ruined our favorite Thai restaurant. My high school events were swarming with musicians supporting their kids.

But you know what? I’ve never even heard a Keith Urban song. I can’t stand Florida Georgia Line. And I assure you if I never hear a song about a tractor again, it’ll be too soon.

If you ask me if I like country music, I’ll tell you yes, but not how they think of country music. I’ll tell them about my enormously talented friends who play writer’s rounds every night.

I’ll tell them about the little bluegrass band playing at the farmer’s market down the road. I’ll tell them about seeing Old Crow Medicine Show playing “O Cumberland River” sitting literally on the shores of it.

But I’ll also tell them how Justin Timberlake is moving in down the road because of the music scene. Or show them a cool new (definitely not country) song from the latest Nashville band.

And, if you ask, I’ll make it abundantly clear that ABC Family’s TV show Nashville really doesn’t do our city justice.

First of all, if there were ever any paparazzi running around our city, they might actually have to face the barrel of a shotgun. OK, OK, I’m kidding BUT bugging famous people really isn’t cool.

And speaking of guns…That’s always a complicated one. What do I think about gun regulation? I mean I know plenty of people who hunt recreationally. One of my best friend’s from high school had a pink sparkly handgun.

But if you’re picturing me sitting on a porch somewhere drinking sweet tea while my daddy cleans out his shotgun, you’ve got another thing coming. I’ve never even seen a gun in real life! Oh, and I don’t like sweet tea either.

And to those who think they know Nashville because they’ve been on Broadway…The honky tonk bars and cowboy boot stores are for the tourists.

And to really clear things up, in case anyone was confused (because they have been before), that’s the Tennessee flag there on that T-shirt, which, I’m proud to say, bears little, if any resemblance to the Confederate flag.

Yes, we’ve got our crazy, KKK celebrating folk. They put up statues like this one of Nathan Bedford Forrest on I-65, but though it’s a prominent place, the private owner of the land does not represent our progressive city by any means and DEFINITELY doesn’t represent my beliefs. Unfortunately, the best we can do is plant trees up in front of it and wait for them to grow.

There are some things that are weird up here for us though. Like how there’s no extra space so your Trader Joe’s is half the size of ours and the only option down Nassau is to parallel park. We don’t have to learn how to parallel park in Tennessee. We’ve got plenty of space for people to park like normal human beings.

But even with all that space, we don’t have any passenger trains. Or a subway system. And I really don’t get how they call the chicken in the dining hall “Southern Fried Chicken.” Honestly, it’s an insult.

The worst though is the cold. So if you see me or any of my fellow Southerners walking around like the abominable snowman, please don’t judge.

Photography by Mrs Sauve – thanks mom, you’re the real MVP.