When I was little, I thought my grandfather’s job was telling stories. The man could spin a yarn so good it made bedtime tales look like lifeless documentaries. There was the time he swore he outran a tornado on foot (a classic Southern flex), or the “true” account of how the best peach cobbler recipe in Alabama was stolen from our family by some unnamed rival church lady (the ultimate scandal). As I grew older, I realized his gift wasn’t fabrication—it was something deeper. His stories weren’t just entertainment; they were lessons, warnings, and love letters to the world we came from.
Family lore helped shape the lens through which I see everything, and, if I’m being honest, it influences how I navigate relationships, too. Because if there’s one thing Southerners know how to do, it’s memorialize what we’ve been through—and figure out how to make sure the best parts, and sometimes even the messy ones, live on. So today, I’m sharing three of those foundational family stories with you. Who knows? Maybe they’ll inspire your own journey through connection and heart—whether romantic or otherwise.
You Can’t Pick and Choose Your Traditions (But You Can Redecorate Them)
Here’s the thing about family traditions: they’re often like those hand-me-down dresses stored in your grandmother’s cedar chest. Most of them don’t quite fit right, some outright itch, but one or two? They’re timeless.
Case in point: Every year at Christmas, my family did a re-telling of the Nativity. Standard enough, right? Except, in our household, the baby Jesus was always played by a poundcake—wrapped in tin foil and tucked into a shoebox. My brother would inevitably go rogue as a distracted shepherd, and my cousin Annie once ditched her part as an angel to Instagram the whole scene live from the family room (we’ve disowned her countless times).
This tradition, bizarre as it was, underscored an uncomfortable but necessary truth for me: We inherit stories and rituals that may not always make sense, but they connect us to something older and wiser. Relationships require this same delicate negotiation. Not everything your partner grew up on is going to fit your life, either. The key? Respect the sacred poundcake moments, but know you’re allowed to sprinkle some glitter—or curate something entirely your own—along the way.
What It Means for You: When you’re building a relationship, figure out what “poundcake traditions” you each bring to the table. Maybe it’s Saturday morning pancakes or wanting to binge-watch every Marvel movie twice a year. You can’t rewrite someone’s roots, but you can agree on what’s still worth holding sacred—and leave room for new traditions that are unmistakably yours.
The Legend of Too Many Tomatoes (Or Knowing When to Compromise)
My dad, bless him, once planted thirteen tomato plants in our backyard because “you can never have too many tomatoes.” Spoiler alert: You can. By August, our kitchen counters were drowning in Roma reds. Neighbors stopped answering their doors when they saw my dad coming up their walks with yet another bushel.
Here’s the kicker: He hated tomatoes. He grew them not for himself, but because my mom loved a good tomato sandwich (white bread, dollop of mayo, pinch of salt). While it was sweet in concept, Mom couldn’t eat nearly enough BLTs to justify the tomato Armageddon. She finally sat him down, tomato-stained hands clasped together, and said, “I love you for growing these, but next year, let’s aim for three plants—not thirteen.”
This memory taught me two things. First: Let no one ever question the lengths a man will go to show he cares (even if it involves an accidental garden apocalypse). Second: In relationships, grand gestures don’t always beat thoughtful compromises.
What It Means for You: Love isn’t about perfect alignment; it’s about meeting in the middle. Maybe you plant three metaphorical tomatoes instead of thirteen. Maybe you figure out your partner’s version of garden excess and kindly suggest scaling back. Love is equal parts giving, receiving, and knowing when enough is enough.
Every Great Love Story Needs a Narrative Arc (So Write Yours Together)
Like any good Southern family, we aren’t just big on storytelling; we’re big on revising stories until the rough edges smooth out into a narrative we can live with. Case in point: my grandmother’s famous courtship story. She always said she fell in love with my grandfather the moment he handed her a tissue at church when she didn’t even realize she was crying (pure rom-com material, really).
Years later, when she was feeling particularly nostalgic, she let slip that it hadn’t quite gone that way. Apparently, she was actually laughing during that service—loud enough for people to turn and give her the side-eye—because Grandpa accidentally let out a snore at the altar. She was mortified, but also completely disarmed when he grinned sheepishly and did what nobody else thought to do: made her feel less embarrassed by laughing about it with her. The tissue was still part of the story, don’t worry, but it became clear that love wasn’t built on one grand Hallmark moment; it was built on humor, humanity, and a shared understanding that life’s awkwardness isn’t fatal.
What It Means for You: In any relationship, you’re co-authoring a story that’s not always linear or picture-perfect. Embrace the plot twists for what they are: authentic and maybe even surprisingly romantic. Don’t worry so much about scripting the “right” moments. Make space for the hilarious and humiliating ones—those are often the best chapters.
Final Thoughts
Family stories stick with us not just because they’re funny or dramatic or comforting, but because they teach us how to live, love, and laugh—even when everything feels sticky and complicated. Whether it’s a poundcake in a shoebox or an overambitious tomato garden, the lessons we carry forward reflect who we are and what we value.
The person you build a life with? They’re your new archive. So share your quirks, listen to theirs, and figure out together which stories are worth telling for years to come. And if there happens to be a tissue-handing moment along the way, all the better.
