By DAN LANGFORD 

How’s yuh Mama an’em?

There’s a common Southern question.  For the uninitiated, it is an inquiry into the health of one’s mother, her household, and her immediate and perhaps extended family and group of friends.  “And them,” which is what “an’em” contracts, can cover right smart ground.

“John an’em wuh at th’council meeting raising Cain again,” is something I might say to someone around Brooks who knows our fictional John and his disgruntled crowd, knows exactly what the group complains about, and understands that I can save the listing of five or six more names with the use of “an’em.”

Often, of course, we don’t run the words together, but say “Fred an’ them” or “Sherri an’ them.”   I wouldn’t say it either way to anybody who wasn’t likely to know Fred or Sherri or the folks Fred and Sherri each run around with — that would be rude.

“An’em” is a term of familiarity, said by someone to someone else, both of whom know the named party and the group of folks the collective “an’em” is intended to represent.  It’s a time-honored shortcut in the South.  If you don’t believe me, go ask yuh Mama an’em.

By DAN LANGFORD

I heard a snippet of Neal Boortz the other day on WSB as he was discussing  something about the word “Ma’am.”  Wish I had caught it all, but the little I did catch had him saying he thought it was an abbreviation for “Madam,” with the “d” left out.  The fellow’s absolutely right — that’s where it comes from.  In the South, even today, well-bred children say this to adult females.  “Yes, ma’am.”  “No, ma’am.”  “Thank you, ma’am.”  It’s a sign of respect that’s still very evident in my part of the world, thank goodness.

Years ago on a visit to New England, a Cape Cod bakery-keeper older than I asked a question as my wife and I were stepping out of her shop.  I didn’t quite hear it, so I said what I’d say to any female obviously older than I in such a case, “Ma’am?”

“WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME????? she roared, suddenly appoplectic enough that I feared she might jump over the counter and head after me for a neck-wringing.

“I said, ‘Ma’am,’ which means simply that I didn’t understand what you asked us.”

“That’s offensive up here!  Don’t you dare call me ‘Ma’am.’  What I asked was ‘are you going to be on the cape next week, for we’re having a big sale.’”

“No, ma’am,” my wife and I said in unison.  Then we beat a hasty retreat before she came after us with her rolling pin.  Yankees, I swannee!

“Sir” is used in the same ways, but of course with men.  We train our children this way from the time they are learning to talk until the time they leave the nest.  A conversation with my 18-year-old son,  Niel, right before he went off to college a couple of weeks ago started like this:

Dad (calling upstairs):  “Niel?”

Niel:  “What?”

Dad:  “It’s ’sir,’ boy; and don’t think you can stop using it just because you’re about to go off to college.”

Niel:  “Yes, sir.”

Then we got on with our conversation.

While I’m pleased to hear a remarkable number of today’s kids still saying “sir” and “ma’am,”  I haven’t heard any youngster use the time-honored shortcuts to those courtesies in ages.  Folks my age and older still use them when talking to our elders, but I’m afraid the shortcuts will one day be gone.  The ones I’m referring to are: yessir and nosir, both of which are said really quickly, as if one word each; and yessum and nome.  The first two are quite obvious and should require no further explanation.  The last two may, and a quick pretend- conversation should well illustrate both usages.

Mama:  “Dan, are you ready for supper?”

Dan:  “Yessum!”

Mama:  “Have you washed your hands?”

Dan:  “Nome, but I will.”

Succinct, polite, and altogether Southern.  What more could one want?

By DAN LANGFORD

Amongst the most common spoken Southern contractions are those involving helping verbs.  We might write “I am going to recommend that you stop right now,” but that’s an awful mouthful to say.  What we’d generally say, unless making a formal speech, is something more like “I’m'o recommend that you stop right now.”  I’m not sure how to punctuate it in writing, but I suspect most of us say it, as I’ve heard it from all classes of folks all my life.  Now I’m'o explain another common one.

We use “can” as a helping verb generally meaning ability and/or willingness to do something, as in “I can take care of that for you.”  What we’d probably say is “I’gn,” as in “I’gn handle that.”  It pretty well works no matter what the pronoun — “you’gn borrow the car tonight,” “he’gn hold his breath for three minutes,” “we’gn go out to eat tomorrow night,” and “they’gn just kiss my…..” — you get the picture.

I’m open to suggestions as to how and spell these common contractions, for we ought to be able to reduce these nuances of Southern speech into writing in the clearest way possible.   You’gn just post a comment with any suggestions you might have.  I’m'o be waiting with great anticipation.