October 30, 2007
I empathize with international exchange students who come here with hopes of mastering the English language in just one semester. As if it weren’t hard enough to grasp concepts such as there, their, and they’re, the chances are slim of learning to navigate the complexities of the cultural slang that muddles communication even between folks here at home. I know this language barrier exists because it is alive and well in my own house.
Last June, I went shopping with my son Evan’s birthday list in hand. At the end of a long day, it dawned on me that the reason I hadn’t found just the right gift was because I didn’t understand his criteria: anything pimpin’, flossin’ or blingin’. I sought counsel from my daughter Bailey. “It doesn’t matter what you get him, as long as it’s something tight,” she advised. Big help.
My husband and I finally decided to give Evan a set of speakers for his car. Upon opening his gift he blurted, “That’s sick.” My disappointment was short-lived, as he assured me that was a good thing.
A few days later I overheard his conversation, as he showed the speakers to his friend.
“Those are off the chains,” his friend remarked. Hmmm … also good, I surmised.
The communication barrier goes beyond the generation gap, however, as illustrated by an exchange I recently had with my plumber, who had a language all his own.
“Well, the thing is that this doomaflochee rah cheer ain’t lonned up wichat thingamabob rah cheer. Depending on how much a doo-hickey like that costs, you may end up just buying a new toilet,” he told me.
I never did understand the problem. “Works for me,” I answered.
Then there are times when I think I’m the one not articulating my thoughts very well. When my kids recently asked me if I wanted to accompany them on a short road trip to do some shopping and eating, I answered that I would need to cogitate on that for a while. They looked at me, puzzled.
“You know, ponder,” I prompted.
“Huh?”
“You know, think about it.” They nodded in understanding.
Soon thereafter, the question arose again.
“I don’t know,” I told Bailey. “I am vacillating.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. We can talk about this when you feel better.”
“No, no. I mean I’m wavering.”
“Huh?”
“I keep changing my mind, back and forth, back and forth,” I nearly yelled.
“Oh, I get it,” Bailey answered. “Well, that’s sketch.”
“Huh?” I said.
Just then, my son entered the room.
“Wassup?” he asked.
“Nothing, only Mom is using big words again.”
“Oh, Mom, why don’t you just speak English?” Evan urged.
I decided not to go on their road trip. But I sent them on their way, and I even gave them $50 for food and gas. As they pulled out of the driveway, I called after them to bring back the change. I’m pretty sure they didn’t understand that.
Comments
plyman (plyman) says...
Love it! Have you checked out urbandictionary.com? It's saving my sanity.
November 2, 2007 at 1:03 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
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