My roommate likes to tell me that I sound like Sarah Palin.

Politics aside, I don’t really think anyone would take that as a compliment.

The first time she said it I hung up the phone on her.

The thing is, she’s right. I do sound funny. I pray not as funny as Palin, but funny nonetheless. I don’t know how it happened, but I have developed a hybrid accent that has taken on the best (and worst) of all the places I’ve lived and the people I’ve spent significant time around.

Apparently when you mix suburban Kansas, Oklahoma, Southern Indiana (chalk-full of east coasters), Ireland and Texas, you get something that sounds like Wisconsin with a head cold.

I don’t really mind my accent at this point. It’s kind of a talking point.

How exactly do you get “maaaaammm” out of “mom?”

Can you say “praaaactice” again? I’ve just never heard it quite like that.

I didn’t know they said y’all in Minnesota.

My roommate even insists that my accent gets worse when it is cold outside.

Most of my students are from heavily Spanish speaking areas of Houston or Mexico itself, so they don’t really notice my accent as being anything unusual. I talk weird, but I’m speaking English, so it’s already weird. The accent just makes me harder to understand.

Usually my students are fairly understanding of different pronunciations and language development. At worst, they ask each other to revert to Spanish if a particular English phrase is too hard to comprehend.

Last week we were sitting around our carpet square reading our class novel when Alfonso raised his hand to ask a question. Alfonso — all insight and soft spoken introspection —— rarely offers comments, but I love when he does. As he spoke, a few of my rowdier boys started giggling to the side.

Apparently my sharp glance was interpreted as a prompt for them to share their funny thoughts with the class.

“He sounds funny, the way he says that word.”

Before I could correct them, Karina cut me off.

“He doesn’t sound funny at all,” she said softly. “He sounds like home.”

A quiet murmur of agreement went through the group as they realized that Alfonso has done what I’ve done: mixed the sounds of his two homes. Mexico and Houston. Spanish and English. His words are smooth and clear, but his accent carries the miles and reminds so many of my students of their abuelas, border crossings and Mexican homelands.

What the two boys who were silenced with Karina’s insights had failed to realize is that you don’t leave the places that used to be home — you take them with you.

Some people carry around family photos, old license plates or even pillows emblazoned with their state flag to remind them of home. I apparently carry around drawn out syllables and phrases from every place I’ve left my heart.

I sincerely hope that I don’t have to endure four more years of being compared to a nasally Alaskan vice-president. The voice comparison is certainly good for Tina Fey’s career and my roommate loves the opportunity to point out my vocal doppleganger, but I don’t need a political candidate to remind me of where I’m from.

5 Responses to “Sounds like home”

1. Kelly Says:
   November 4th, 2008 at 1:22 am

   That’s beautiful, Sam.

2. Crystal Says:
   November 4th, 2008 at 9:31 am

   I love it!

3. Ky Says:
   November 4th, 2008 at 6:31 pm

   hahaha I like your new roommate already. You sound like a nasally Alaskan!

4. Alice Hill Says:
   November 23rd, 2008 at 9:21 am

   Jacky chooses her friends well. We need more young people like you.

5. This Ordinary Day » Pony Says:
   January 17th, 2009 at 12:12 am

   [...] only natural that my verbal tic would come out with my roommate since she has a pension for making fun of my other verbal [...]

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