A Family Phonetics Lesson

U.S. born children of immigrants are often referred to as first generation. Their children are second generation. I never was quite sure how we stacked up - our dad immigrated but our mother is first generation. When my brothers and I were born ('75, '83, '85), most of the living family members were immigrants, so I suppose if pressed, I'd go with first generation.

For me, growing up in a tightly knit Italian household was as joyful as it was frustrating. Of course, this is an adult realization. It's a little obscured when you're a teenager.

For every ridiculous, unfair, superstitious, racist, and nonsensical comment or directive, there was also unshakable family unity, unquestionable love, an abundance of physical affection, and very very little pretense - or silence, for that matter. Everyone knows just about everything and says just about everything and there's no reason to feel awkward about it. Occasionally this complicates matters in adulthood, but most of the time, it's a complete comfort.

Oh, enough of the grandstanding. Here's where I make fun of the people I love:

American English: I'm going to Poughkeepsie.
Italian Aunt/Grandma/Relative: Wha? You go a Poo-KEEPS? Why?

AE: I don't want to take a bath yet.
IAGR: You gettin da bat-tub. You deesgust.

AE: I need a toothpick.
IAGR: I got toot-peeks in da cabinet.

AE: That will be $13.35 please.
IAGR: Turrteen Turrdee Five. Here you go.