Pahking My Cah

Whenever people hear that I am from Boston, they always ask me the same thing. "Where's your accent."

The sad truth is that I used to have a very thick Boston accent. Not only did I grow up outside the city, but my working-class family had lived in the same town for generations. Yup. I'm a townie.

Or I was anyway. When I first got married we were stationed in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I quickly found that people had a hard time understanding me. I dropped my "r"s and I added them in where they didn't belong. And I talked way too fast. I sounded like every Boston television character ever developed for the small screen.

So I set out to lose my accent. It took me about a year but it was surprisingly easy. When you don't hear it a lot, it is easy to overcome it.

Even though my kids were born and raised right here in Northwest, Louisiana, they don't have an accent. We've done the best we can to raise them to speak broadcast English. I think as a military family who will be moving around a lot at some point, it is a good idea.

When I come back to Massachusetts and I hear that accent, it makes me cringe. The more I talk with my family and the locals the more I can slip back into my accent. I can pahk my cah in Hahvahd yahd with the best of them. But not my kids.

When my mother says, "I have an idear. Let's get some shots," my daughter gets a little upset. She's not a big fan of needles. Of course Grandma was talking about buying new shorts.

But eventually my daughter will tell her that she's fixing to put up those shorts she didn't like and everyone is even.