Here’s the thing about Rhode Islanders, we have our own accent. It’s not quite Boston and it’s not quite Long Island…it’s somewhere in between. It’s not “Pahk the Cah At Hahvad Yahd” around here. I really try to speak correctly but I slip sometimes, usually depending on who I was just speaking with. I kind of pick accents up quickly, it’s embarrassing. For the most part I pronounce my “r” and don’t put it where it doesn’t belong. My family gets angry with me when I correct them. “Mom, it’s vodka, not vodker.” It’s not, “Auntie Linder drank vodker in Florider.” Babe, there is a “t” in butter. Not Buh-ddah.
Where the worry comes in? My kids. I don’t want my kids to have a Rhode Island accent. I want them to speak properly. Is that so bad? I correct them and my husband all. the. time. It’s with not wit. Ain’t is not a word, although spellcheck feels otherwise. I truly felt helpless the other day in the car. It went something like this.
Boy: Mom, I know how to spell dear two ways. D-E-A-R is like Dear first grade journal. D-E-E-R is like deer dad tries to hunt.
I was so proud.
Husband: There is one more. Like I double dog dare you.
Me: What!? No there isn’t that’s D-A-R-E. Dare.
Husband: Yeah, dare, deer, dear. They’re all the same.
Me: No its dare! Daaaaaa-air.
The argument continued all the way down the road. My husband is going to screw up my kids!! “Well that’s a blog post,” he says.