So here we are; three and a half years post OZ landfall,
still in the land Down Under.
Fortunately, we still live in the same beautiful home in dreamy Manly;
the beach is one block away, and Sydney a 17-minute ferry ride. The boys are thriving at their new school and
look like Angus Young miniatures in their smart and proper school uniforms,
minus the sneery, floppy lips of course.
Not surprisingly, they’re growing up beautifully, but shockingly,
they’re growing up, Australian? Will
that be their identity?
Reid has lived in Australia longer than he lived in America.
The boys use vocabulary like ‘cross,’ as
in, “Mummy, why are you cross?” and ‘reckon,’ as in, “Do you reckon?” But the craziest reality is they sound
nothing like us anymore! Every morning
upon first hello, I’m always startled at their little voices speaking to me in
a different tongue. Where did your R’s
go boys?! When did your O’s become so nasally?! It’s a frequent occurrence for Mark and me to
throw sideways glances at each other upon statements like, “Oh, that’s such a
shame.”
Parker was recently remarking on a framed photo we have of
Mark and me a lifetime ago snowboarding in Lake Tahoe…sigh. He asked, “What’s in the background of this
photo ‘Mummy,’ it looks like an ocean.”
I said, “Actually, that’s a valley and Reno just beyond.” He then, subtly, under his breath as he
turned away from me said, “Vaalllleeee…” I startled! “What did you just say Parker?!” He smirked and giggled a bit and said, “Oh
nothing.” I hesitantly asked, “Did you
just make fun of my accent?!” He turned
with a cheeky smile sprawled across his face, looked at me square in the eyes
and said, “Vaaalllleeee.” I burst out
laughing and we both howled in hysterics.
He confidently remarked, “Well, you and Daddy always make fun of my
accent, so I’m making fun of yours.”
Fair dinkum Parker, fair dinkum.
So it’s one thing – and quite funny - to have your son make
fun of your accent, but it’s entirely another when a table full of your female
peers makes fun of your accent behind your back – not funny. Such an event recently happened to me. I really shouldn’t care. These women are not my friends, and
throughout this dinner said women made no attempt to ask me a question, or show
interest in anything I had to say. But
as I left, I lingered around the corner like an insecure little girl to
eavesdrop, and sure enough, one of the women pulled out her best American drawl
and mimicked something I said as the rest of the women burst into
laughter. It bruised.
Through this experience I’m reminded about my identity, I am
American! And I’m damn proud to be
American! I mean I don’t have a gun
raised in one hand and a McDonald’s cheeseburger in the other, it’s more like a
rainbow flag in one hand and a quinoa salad in the other – which is just as
“American.” Anyway, I didn’t know what
identity was until I left America, hell, I didn’t know I had an accent until I
left America! And I find it surprising
for such a transient population as Sydney has for a group of women to have a
laugh at my expense – about an accent. Obviously
if someone can’t get past my drawl, or doesn’t want to know me because of my
nationality, then they’re not worth my time, I do know this. I happen to find accents amazing and
entertaining, but by no means does the way I sound define who I am. It’s not what identifies me.
