Charlie Brown Memphis

When I meet other folks from Memphis they're always surprised to learn that I'm also a native Memphian.

"Oh really?" they ask. "You don't sound like you're from Memphis and you certainly don't act like a Memphian."

I'm still not quite sure if such comments are meant as compliments or insults but my guess is that they're intended as a compliment. Which is sad when you think about it, especially when considering the source of such comments - fellow Memphians.

If a wiseguy from Brooklyn said something similar to one of his neighborhood brethren it would no doubt be an insult.

"You're from Brooklyn? Really? You sure don't sound sound like it. What, are you too good for us you gotta talk like some oatmeal newscaster from Iowa?"

Or imagine the big buckled Texan berating his Lone Star State kin. Or the guy from South Boston. Or Savannah.

But in Memphis, sounding and behaving like an outsider is to be envied.

Why is that? 

Since I'm a native Memphian I believe I'm in a position to take a guess at the answer, even if I don't sound and behave like one. 

Memphis is the Charlie Brown of cities. Always running towards the football but never quite kicking it. Lucy is always there, with promises and smiles, ready to pull that football away at that last, critical moment. That's Memphis. Full of optimism and hope but ultimately landing on its back time and time again.

Yet, like Charlie Brown, it's still a lovable, endearing place full of great ideas, ambitions and dreams and able to keep plodding along in spite of the back-breaking string of disappointments.

And after a while, the people of Memphis, lovable and good hearted as they are, adopt some of the self-deprecating qualities of their Charlie Brown city. 

The result is that a fellow Memphian who doesn't sound like Charlie Brown is something to be celebrated.

"He doesn't sound and act like us. Maybe he's kicked the ball. Good for him."