Losing my identity

by Katie on December 3, 2010

So, my mom has this friend. Nice lady. She’s married to this coach. And he’s a good guy too.

It’s just that, well, every time he’s around, he feels the need to remind me I’m leaving my Texas roots behind.

He makes a big deal out of “listening to me talk”. Like I’m a foreigner or something. In my own hometown.

Anyway, their family came over one evening while I was in The Promised Land this week, and as usual, he made his way into the kitchen to “listen” to me in normal conversation.

I was getting a little defensive. I mean, you tell any Texan they’re doing something un-Texas, and, well, “them’s fightin’ words,” right?

He’s polite, so he said, “Sorry Katie, you just don’t talk like you grew up in Southeast Texas.”

To which my jaw dropped. I mean, plenty of people in Arizona still give me a hard time about my native tongue on a fairly frequent basis.

But one of my best friends, since the 7th grade I might add, was also there. She looked over at my stricken face and said, “Sorry, but he’s right. You don’t talk like you used to.”

So I guess it’s true.

Not that I ever wanted to have a really bad accent or anything, but I was kind of proud of the fact that I could open my mouth and people knew where I came from.

And now Mason will be forced to make a long visit out west. Because if there’s anyone who can take me back to the language of the Southeast Texas swamps I call home, it’s that kid.

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