She told me a quick story about her dad’s favorite restaurant;
it’s a Mexican place down the road called Sopapillias
(soap-a-peeyahs). But, she explained, every time her dad wants to go there he
says, “Hey, let’s go eat at ‘soppa-pillas’ (sop-a-pill-as)”. My friend just
chuckles under her breath. Her dad is old,
so she says it’s cute. We exchanged a few more vernacular faux pas and had a good
giggle between ourselves. After the very short conversation, I had a very long
thought. In my experience, to hear [what I perceive to be] a skewed version of
a word catches me off guard and I sometimes think to myself, don’t they know how to say this correctly?
I wonder if I told them the proper way to
pronounce this if they would be offended. The more I thought about this,
the more troubled in myself I became.
Somewhere in my mind it occurred to me that a person’s
phrases are theirs, not mine. Proper
English is a relative term. English is, after all, a bastard language. Not
much comes up under “proper English” upon a quick google search. In America, we
use slang a lot. Our slang is a reflection of our culture, our nature and our
nurture. Where someone was geographically raised, the family dynamic in which
they were raised and the environment of their community, all play a large role
in acquiring their vernacular (i.e. slang). Life is also lived out in the story
of our slang. In this instance, when I read between the lines of what I
perceive to be improper English, I
find that my loved one has seen, heard and experienced things I will never
encounter. Much can be learned about life and culture by listening to stories.
Stories are how we love our neighbor as ourselves. It’s how we learn to become
a more intimate society.
In a continuous effort to live, love and laugh in our lives,
we also must learn to respect each other in such a way that allows for the
freedom to be different. Imagine a world where everything was a shade of blue.
No red. No yellow. No black. No white. Just, blue. Eventually, we would run out
of questions to ask. Eventually, we would run out of new things to learn. It is
only through the lens of variety that we are able to see our differences and
our similarities.
When applying this thought to vernacular, imagine a world
where everyone spoke English, with only a northeastern accent. Bostonian to be
specific (since it’s my home town…go Sox!). Seriously though, imagine a world
where we all spoke that way. There wouldn’t be any “Hey, Y’all!” in the South or “Eh?”
in the Midwest. There would be nothing to talk about after a while. No comedy,
which we all use as a way to cover up the fact that sometimes we don’t
understand what someone’s saying. Eventually, we’d understand each other
perfectly and there would be no need to ask any more questions. Eventually, we
would know all there is to know, and have nothing new to learn about a person.
We can say that it is only through the lens of vernacular
that we are able to see our differences and our similarities. We can say that
it is only through the language of vernacular that we are able to learn
patience and kindness, and gain wisdom and understanding about culture and
society and family and tradition. These social outlets are how we express
ourselves and how we [again], learn to love our neighbor as ourselves.
Vernacular, whether understood or not, must be respected. It
requires no correction. It desires acknowledgement and appreciation. It
encourages friendship and intimacy. It is a catalyst for new beginnings and it
challenges us to be a better, more enriched, more knowledgeable version of
yesterday’s self.
So, the next time you hear what you perceive to be a
grammatical faux pas, and are tempted to correct it, stop and appreciate the
moment. For, it is in that very moment you have the opportunity to love
unconditionally.
