Monday, June 29, 2009

I say "spigot" and "buggy". I say "y'all" and "yonder". I open my mouth and you can tell what side of the Mason-Dixon I'm from. My momma tells a funny story about the honeymoon she had with my Miami bred father out in the Carolina mountains. They were at a restaurant and she had to translate what the waitress was saying. I'm nowhere near needing subtitles, but I know I've got a twang.

When I was younger, this actually got me jumped in a South Florida school by a couple of girls who assumed that my accent meant I was prejudice, neverminding the irony. So for a long time I went about hiding my natural voice and masking it with a general American accent, or as much of one as I could pull off. It was inconsistent at best and completely non-existent if my ire was up.

Now that I'm an adult and I live in Texas, the motives behind the cover up just don't hold the same sway over me and I've dropped the pretense for the most part. My vowels are drawn out and my consonants soft and nearly slurred. And every now and then I come across someone who'll flat out tell me they hate Southern accents. But I can't get too defensive, especially since I can't stand New England accents myself. Sounds like a damned pig grunting, you ask me.

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