When I
was little I spoke Dutch. I don’t anymore.
Let me
explain. I didn’t actually speak another language. Speaking Dutch
was a phrase, possibly a colloquialism of southwest Pennsylvania, to
describe someone with a speech impediment of some sort. My guess is
that it was a reference to the accents of the Pennsylvania Dutch (who
were mostly German, but whatever).
And in
my experience, was meant as an insult. Probably to me and the
Pennsylvania Dutch.
I really
have no memory of what I sounded like. It wasn’t a stutter. I don’t
think it was a lisp. I remember not really understanding what people
meant when it was brought to my attention, which happened mainly in
the form of being teased by my peers.
There’s
a genetic history of speech problems in my family (though I recognize
that it’s probably not truly genetic and could have been corrected
with speech therapy). My great uncle Frank was, to use another
negative and inaccurate description, ‟tongue-tied.” Apparently my
Uncle Donny, who died nearly two decades before I was born was the
same. I still have cousins who have some minor variations on this.
From
first to fourth grade I saw a speech therapist named Mr. Rice. The
content of these sessions are lost to my memory. I don’t know if it
was every week, or once a month. My main memory is the day when he
shook my hand, told me congratulations, and said I didn’t have to
come back anymore. This is probably the first time someone shook my
hand and congratulated me for achieving something, even if I wasn’t
quite sure what it was. I don’t remember progress, or anything
changing. I still heard myself the same way I always did. But
apparently I didn’t talk Dutch any more.
I was
teased about this, but I was also teased about a lot of other things,
so even though I’m talking about it here specific incidents don’t
really stand out. I don’t think I was ever sensitive about this
issue specifically, probably because I was never really able to hear
myself through other ears. It certainly didn’t stop me from
talking, to individuals or large groups. I talk in front of people
all of the time these days and it never crosses my mind. It’s a
pretty vague memory of my childhood. I’m not even sure what made me
think of it recently. But it has made me think about some stuff.
I know I
consciously made an effort to lose my Greene County accent. I’m not
even sure that’s a thing. Being south of Pittsburgh it’s a
derivation of the classic Yinzer, I’m sure, though most people I
know back home tend to pronounce it more like ‟Younz” than
‟Yinz.” My Mom and her parents were from West Virgina so I leaned
more toward ‟Y’all” anyway. I didn’t want to say either. At
some point in my late teens I ran into someone who asked me what part
of the South I was from. Really?
I grew
up in a world where people said things like Chimley, and ‟I need to
brasch my teeth,” (long vowel sound in that, pronounced kind of
like brace but with a shh on the end). We warshed our clothes and
sometimes on the weekends went shopping in Warshington. Once I became
aware of these things I made an effort to correct myself. I was so
appalled by Yinz that to this day, after living in Pittsburgh for
twenty-six years, I can’t do a credible imitation of the accent
(which may speak more to my abilities as a mimic than anything else).
Some things still slip out. I’ll let out an ain’t once in awhile
because the English language still doesn’t have a good contraction
for Am Not. We don’t have a good inclusive word for a group of
people either, so I think I just avoid referring to y’all at all.
I’m also pretty sure that redding up my room describes a completely
different process than cleaning it.
So I
made a conscious effort to red-up the way I spoke, trying to become
aware of tics and accents and colloquialisms as much as one can. I
don’t know if any of us are ever entirely aware of how we sound to
others. I increased my vocabulary through reading and found new ways
to express my ideas. Words became my life. I’m a writer. I speak in
public frequently. Sometimes I speak in public about things I’ve
written. Being good with language became a goal for me, and part of
that goal was not to be judged for the way I spoke.
And I’m
aware of how this ties in with ideas of class and education.
I once
worked with a local politician from my home district. He too had
worked to change the way he spoke. One of his goals, stated to me
overtly many times, was to be a good orator. He used Cicero as an
example. The fact that he used the word orator and referenced Cicero
says something. He used a lot of big words, usually to good effect.
He took a lot of good-natured ribbing about his erudition from his
compatriots in government. But when he was speaking to many of his
constituents, comprised of many lower income and poorly educated
families, he often sounded not only pretentious, but part of a world
they simply could not understand. He didn’t seem to understand that
the word ‟colorful” worked much better than ‟polychromatic”
with most of his audiences.
Knowing
big words does not mean you are actually communicating when you use
them.
There
are a lot of people who feel left out of the conversation. Because of
their level of education. Because of their vocabulary. Because of
their lack of exposure to many issues and topics that effect them. There is a
genuine lack of comprehension because of these things. It is
difficult to bridge that communication gap.
And this
is definitely a function of class. Funding to our public schools
continues to be cut, limiting the educational opportunities of
millions of people. School districts in poor neighborhoods simply
don’t have the money to teach these skills adequately. Brilliant
teachers are hampered every day by the fiscal realities of their
district. Higher education now comes with crippling debt. More and
more people have the tools of language and communication less and
less.
No one
likes to feel stupid. Without these tools to communicate ideas more
fully they are left frustrated and angry, both misunderstood and
misunderstanding.
Even
attempting to address this is difficult. Finding the words to discuss
this issue without sounding like the cliché of ‟Intellectual
Liberal” does not come easy. I’m afraid that I sound like one of
my old tormentors, making fun of someone for ‟talking Dutch” when
they have no idea what I’m referring to. But it feels as though any
attempt to bridge this gap comes across as ‟talking down” or
‟dumbing down” or ‟aiming at the lowest common denominator.”
I think
the problem with these phrases is self-evident.
*****
So this
whole post started out as one thing and then the topic highjacked me
and became something else. But not really. I began this as a little
personal anecdote and it became a metaphor for bigger issues. I got
to the point right before the break and realized I had no idea what
to say next. For all of my talk of communication I stumbled because I
was having difficulty talking about these ideas without expressing,
intentional or not, some kind of condescension. This illustrates the
core of the problem.
Even
though my memories are vague I’m pretty sure one of the things Mr.
Rice taught me was to listen more closely. I wasn’t pronouncing
words correctly because I wasn’t hearing them accurately. I was
unable to form sounds until I processed them.
There’s
a pretty clear lesson here, one I and most other people need to pay
attention to; Listen. Even when the ideas being expressed seem
foreign to you. Especially when you know those who are speaking may
not have the same words or experiences or entire frame of reference
that you do. Try to understand what is being communicated and
remember that a lot of it has nothing to do with words. When you are
speaking or writing, remember your audience. Be aware of what you are
communicating and how it may be perceived. Not everyone can hear or
understand the language you use.
And
that’s all I have to say about that.
