"English isn't my first language."
I'm going to say this as clearly and as honestly as possible:
There are a lot of words in the English language that I don't pronounce anywhere near correctly.
Lucky for me, this doesn't seem to stop people from befriending me, hiring me for work, or giving me diplomas. They may regret it later, but they still do it at the time. Maybe it's that they think one of my mispronouncations is a one-time thing or (as though it were a small child doing it) they think it's endering and part of the region of American in which I was born and raised, or finally, perhaps they just don't know what I am talking about and brush my mispronouncation off as their lack of understanding of whatever the hell it is that I'm going on and on about.
When someone does finally call me out on the fact that whatever I just said can't possibily be a real word, I use my sense of humour to brush it off saying, "English isn't my first language," and then carrying on with whatever I feel like talking about. The fact that I am increasingly using words that don't exist has come up a lot more recently. I blame my Kiwi friend Derick who has a habbit of calling me out of my mispronounciation. I think he finds them funny, and to be honest, some of them really can be.
Yesturday was Guy Fawkes Day here in New Zealand. It's traditionally celebrated with fireworks and bon fires. Although I was most keen on the bon fire part of the holiday, (determined to finally get the non-Americans in my life to try s'mores), my co-workers were quick to warn me that I'd probably be arrested and face swift fines if I went the bon fire route. Besides, it rained that night anyway, which would have barely been worth the police record and whatever cash the country would try to squeze out of me. (Also, the marshmallows are far to dense here to work for proper s'more making.) So, I settled for an accidental trip to St. Johns bar, a purposeful trip to Mac's Brewery, dinner with Rica (nicknamed that because I've mispronounced her real name so many times that I'm suprised we're still friends), another visit to Mac's Brewery to catch up with the rest of our group, and a city-provided fireworks viewing on the waterfront.
The trouble with Guy Fawkes day started a week ago when on one of our many visits to a local cafe, Derick made an educated attempt at explaining the holiday, (you'll have to look it up if you want to know about, I don't have time here for a long-winded Derick-provided explanation of the day). At the end of Derick's explaination/rant, (where I seem to recall being told it was ok to burn books... although I'm probably just twisting his words now), I innocently asked, "Do you think the fireworks on Guy Forks are as big as the fireworks on the 4th of July?"
Guy Forks???
Yeah, that's how I said it, "Guy Forks Day". You know, the holiday.
After that, Derick said that I would be best to pronounce it "Guy Fox" because as least then the locals wouldn't be confused as to what I was talking about. Would I still be mispronouncing it? Yes. Would people know what I was talking about? Yes. Seemed like a good compromise.
Last night, after the fireworks, Rica and Derick came over for tea, (seemed like the English thing offer on what I'm pretty sure is an English holiday). As Derick was telling a story about a friend of his getting stabbed during a domestic dispute with his girlfriend, (Rica and I were pretty much badgering him for stories about New Zealand gang violence since we never see or hear about it here), I mispronounced two words I had spoken a million times in my life, (I blame a late night, cold wind, and two trips to Mac's Brewery in one night). This lead to me telling a story about how I spent all of my time in Germany thinking that the word for a German sausage was "brawst" rather than bratwurst. Luckily, I never ate one, so only a limited number of people had to be confused by this mistake.
Although I occationally worry that people actually believe me when I say that English isn't my first language, (if not that, then what is?), I'm ok with these verbal missteps. They seem to open up a dialogue about language, cultural misunderstanding, and even force others to spill their own horrifying stories of miscommunications at times. And if I love anything, it's a good ol' fashioned story of a horrifying miscommunication.
There are a lot of words in the English language that I don't pronounce anywhere near correctly.
Lucky for me, this doesn't seem to stop people from befriending me, hiring me for work, or giving me diplomas. They may regret it later, but they still do it at the time. Maybe it's that they think one of my mispronouncations is a one-time thing or (as though it were a small child doing it) they think it's endering and part of the region of American in which I was born and raised, or finally, perhaps they just don't know what I am talking about and brush my mispronouncation off as their lack of understanding of whatever the hell it is that I'm going on and on about.
When someone does finally call me out on the fact that whatever I just said can't possibily be a real word, I use my sense of humour to brush it off saying, "English isn't my first language," and then carrying on with whatever I feel like talking about. The fact that I am increasingly using words that don't exist has come up a lot more recently. I blame my Kiwi friend Derick who has a habbit of calling me out of my mispronounciation. I think he finds them funny, and to be honest, some of them really can be.
Yesturday was Guy Fawkes Day here in New Zealand. It's traditionally celebrated with fireworks and bon fires. Although I was most keen on the bon fire part of the holiday, (determined to finally get the non-Americans in my life to try s'mores), my co-workers were quick to warn me that I'd probably be arrested and face swift fines if I went the bon fire route. Besides, it rained that night anyway, which would have barely been worth the police record and whatever cash the country would try to squeze out of me. (Also, the marshmallows are far to dense here to work for proper s'more making.) So, I settled for an accidental trip to St. Johns bar, a purposeful trip to Mac's Brewery, dinner with Rica (nicknamed that because I've mispronounced her real name so many times that I'm suprised we're still friends), another visit to Mac's Brewery to catch up with the rest of our group, and a city-provided fireworks viewing on the waterfront.
The trouble with Guy Fawkes day started a week ago when on one of our many visits to a local cafe, Derick made an educated attempt at explaining the holiday, (you'll have to look it up if you want to know about, I don't have time here for a long-winded Derick-provided explanation of the day). At the end of Derick's explaination/rant, (where I seem to recall being told it was ok to burn books... although I'm probably just twisting his words now), I innocently asked, "Do you think the fireworks on Guy Forks are as big as the fireworks on the 4th of July?"
Guy Forks???
Yeah, that's how I said it, "Guy Forks Day". You know, the holiday.
After that, Derick said that I would be best to pronounce it "Guy Fox" because as least then the locals wouldn't be confused as to what I was talking about. Would I still be mispronouncing it? Yes. Would people know what I was talking about? Yes. Seemed like a good compromise.
Last night, after the fireworks, Rica and Derick came over for tea, (seemed like the English thing offer on what I'm pretty sure is an English holiday). As Derick was telling a story about a friend of his getting stabbed during a domestic dispute with his girlfriend, (Rica and I were pretty much badgering him for stories about New Zealand gang violence since we never see or hear about it here), I mispronounced two words I had spoken a million times in my life, (I blame a late night, cold wind, and two trips to Mac's Brewery in one night). This lead to me telling a story about how I spent all of my time in Germany thinking that the word for a German sausage was "brawst" rather than bratwurst. Luckily, I never ate one, so only a limited number of people had to be confused by this mistake.
Although I occationally worry that people actually believe me when I say that English isn't my first language, (if not that, then what is?), I'm ok with these verbal missteps. They seem to open up a dialogue about language, cultural misunderstanding, and even force others to spill their own horrifying stories of miscommunications at times. And if I love anything, it's a good ol' fashioned story of a horrifying miscommunication.
