Plank Story: Tongue Tied
My dad has a Boston accent that Siri struggles to understand. After he talks a text and clicks send without rereading it, a nonsensical message of gibberish lands in my family’s group text. My siblings and I race to translate what he actually means. When I got a text from him that read, “I appreciate your blood this morning,” I could not figure out the meaning, so I asked. Blood was intended to be blog. He’d read my blog and liked it.
In addition to his misunderstood accent and technical difficulties, sometimes my father stumbles over words. Most recently this has been a problem with his newest grandson, my sister’s son. His name is Quentin, but my father calls him Quintin. Qui vs que. To my dad’s credit, I tend to want to say Quintin over Quentin too. The que doesn’t roll off my tongue and I have to think about it. But since Quentin’s birth, I have witnessed this conversation multiple times:
Dad: How’s Quintin?
Sister: Dad, it’s Quentin.
Dad: Right, what did I say?
Sister: Quintin.
Dad: Yeah, that’s right.
Sister: No, it’s Quentin.
Dad: Isn’t that what I said?
Like Father Like Daughter
My family teases my dad […]