Buffalo Gal

My grandparents were born with East European tongues, my parents with facile ones that could wrap around various dialects.
But somehow, I have an American tongue. An awkward, stubborn, independent member that has actually taken stitches when I tried to chew gum and get out of the car at the same time. (The ER doc said people bite their tongues all the time and we don't stitch them... until he saw it).
It sternly resisted a total of six years instruction in my ancestral tongue (even when I rolled back the educational odometer and started with basic German again in college after four years in high school).
When I was an exchange student in Germany immersed in language, I could hear the words correctly. I could display then in my mind from the years of classroom drills, but my tongue refused all the folds and rolls necessary to make the sounds. For a while I lived with the illusion I spoke better German when I'd had a few beers and reduced my inhibitions. A native speaking friend was kind enough to tell me I no longer sounded like an American who had never studied the language... I sounded like a drunk American who had never studied the language.
The only good thing about required Latin and Greek classes in college was that there was no conversational component. I could do the algebraic etymology problems on paper all day and explain them in English. But if the professor called on me to read, the kindest response for all involved on my part was a coughing fit and exit to the drinking fountain.
Inside I am so very urbane and continental, but my tongue, to date, is holding my inner self hostage.
My tongue and I both enjoy discovering and tasting new wines. But, i will only give American, Austrialian and New Zealand varieties the courtesy of proper prounication.
It is resolute on French wines. I begged and pleaded for it to make Shiraz sound like something other than a midwestern college cheer. It sounds almost as good as it tastes when my friend Anne says it.
This morning Jennine and I are going to visit Anne for a French lesson. When we get through with this, I won't have to point to wines on the wine list. I'll have my daughter order for me.

Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs

Buffalo Gal Judi Griggs I'm a communications professional, writer, cynic, mother, wife and royal pain. The order depends on the day. I returned to my hometown in November 2004 after a couple of decades of heat and hurricanes. I can polish pristine copy, but not here. This is my morning exercise -- 20-minute takes without a net or spellcheck. It's easier than sit ups for me. No guarantee what it will be for you. Clicking on the subscribe link will send you an email notice when each new entry is posted.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (0) Share on Facebook		2004-02-25 9:23 AM A foreign tongue My grandparents were born with East European tongues, my parents with facile ones that could wrap around various dialects. But somehow, I have an American tongue. An awkward, stubborn, independent member that has actually taken stitches when I tried to chew gum and get out of the car at the same time. (The ER doc said people bite their tongues all the time and we don't stitch them... until he saw it). It sternly resisted a total of six years instruction in my ancestral tongue (even when I rolled back the educational odometer and started with basic German again in college after four years in high school). When I was an exchange student in Germany immersed in language, I could hear the words correctly. I could display then in my mind from the years of classroom drills, but my tongue refused all the folds and rolls necessary to make the sounds. For a while I lived with the illusion I spoke better German when I'd had a few beers and reduced my inhibitions. A native speaking friend was kind enough to tell me I no longer sounded like an American who had never studied the language... I sounded like a drunk American who had never studied the language. The only good thing about required Latin and Greek classes in college was that there was no conversational component. I could do the algebraic etymology problems on paper all day and explain them in English. But if the professor called on me to read, the kindest response for all involved on my part was a coughing fit and exit to the drinking fountain. Inside I am so very urbane and continental, but my tongue, to date, is holding my inner self hostage. My tongue and I both enjoy discovering and tasting new wines. But, i will only give American, Austrialian and New Zealand varieties the courtesy of proper prounication. It is resolute on French wines. I begged and pleaded for it to make Shiraz sound like something other than a midwestern college cheer. It sounds almost as good as it tastes when my friend Anne says it. This morning Jennine and I are going to visit Anne for a French lesson. When we get through with this, I won't have to point to wines on the wine list. I'll have my daughter order for me. Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs Read/Post Comments (0) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top