The Crow's Nest

Growing up in a southern state full of Yankees and Midwesterners sometimes leads practical expectations adrift in day-to-day living.

Florida isn’t part of the south that’s the Carolinas, Tennessee or Virginia. Florida isn’t really Dixie. It isn’t really tropical. It’s a boiling crock-pot of Latin fare, meat and potatoes brought down from the northeast; seasoned with country and all the weird in-between.

It’s hot. And it’s definitely humid.

Raised in the boonies of Pasco County, I couldn’t relate to my parent’s childhood winters in Massachusetts. I felt left out of Christmas movie specials, Charlie Brown’s great pumpkin and big families in old houses with old traditions.

My historic buildings were strip malls where the Video Lion used to be, and I didn’t have a baseball team to call my own until 1998. By then, I was already a sworn Red Sox fan.

I remember being mad when it was still hot in October (every year), I remember knitting scarves and buying mittens and being upset I didn’t get to wear them. I hated Florida because it wasn’t what I wanted it to be.

After living in a cold corner of New England for a few months, I outgrew this. I moved back to Florida appreciating sunshine and mugginess and humidity in all its sweat-glistening glory.

But as I’m nearing 25 years living in Florida, I’ve reached my limit on hearing about how lousy Florida is, and how stupid Floridians are.

When you’re living in a humid subtropical climate, it’s best to expect a hot and humid day, every day. While we all look magnificent in pea coats and slacks, sweat-soaked cotton and hair styled by moisture is our reality. Let’s own it.

“Florida drivers are just the worst drivers,” declared an older receptionist I’d struck up conversation with a few weeks ago.

“Where are you from?” I asked.

“Massachusetts,” he said.

The irony almost made me double over. So many Florida residents aren’t from Florida. Maybe the crappy driver you’re encountering is from Michigan, or Jersey, or Pennsylvania. He’s probably just a crappy driver, wherever he’s from.

Maybe the politicians who twisted up our state were all from other states. Maybe the guy responsible for building a Family Dollar on every corner of our streets isn’t a stupid Floridian, but a North Carolinian.

Songwriter David Dondero, who lived in our fair state, has the most realistic way to romance such a place. In his homage to Florida in his song “South of the South,” he writes:

“The humidity – it’s thick, you can cut it with a knife / If you’d like to take a breath here, honey / I’m gonna cut you out a slice.”

May the hottest of summers lead you to the coolest of springs. May your dry mouth bring you to the sweetest glass of orange juice.

jmcinnis@mail.usf.edu