My wife missed her calling by not becoming either an English teacher or a speech therapist. I know this because she has spent almost 35 years correcting my grammar and/or enunciation on a daily basis.
Granted, I give her a multitude of opportunities.
I was raised back in the deep woods of the Ozark Mountains and eventually ended up studying for a couple of years in Mississippi. If anything could screw up a person’s ability to speak properly, that combination seemed to do the trick.
At first, little phrases such as, “Can I carry you out to supper on Friday night?” struck her as charming and cute. Nonetheless, she would correct me by saying, “Don’t you mean may I take you out to dinner this Friday evening?” The way I saw it, either request would result in us eating a meal together and I would pay.
When we first met, I was teaching at a university and she was amazed that I seldom sounded the “g” at the end of words like workin, gettin, fixin, etc. “My goodness,” she would say. “You are a college professor; you should talk like you have an education.”
I would reply with, “You’re absolutely right, dear. I’m tryin’ to be better with everthang I say.”
And I did try. For years, while I was teaching, I consciously tried to pronounce my words correctly and speak with the most accurate grammar, because I knew impressionable young people would try to emulate their teacher. But, when I left the teaching profession 20 years ago, one of the biggest reliefs was being able to talk the way I had always felt comfortable. Dropping my g’s and letting go of a syllable here and there makes me feel better, reduces stress and probably adds years to my life.
So, after all these years of futility for my wife, you’d think that she would have given up by now. Not so.
A few days ago, I was sitting at the kitchen table, working on a piece of equipment that had torn up (don’t get in a huff – I had a piece of plastic thrown over the table), when Judy walked by and made the comment, “That looks like pretty delicate work.”
“It’s pretty tedious,” I responded.
She stopped dead in her tracks and exclaimed, “What did you say?”
“I said it’s very tedious work.” I might explain that I pronounced the word, tee-jus.
“It’s pronounced tee-dee-us,” she corrected.
“I think it’s one of those words that can go either way.”
Adamantly, she stated, “No, it’s not.”
Later that day, I went to the computer and found a recording of an old-time bluegrass artist singing a song entitled, Life Gets Tee-jus, Don’t It.
“Well,” she concluded, “that doesn’t mean it’s correct. I swear, I thought I had heard you mispronounce every possible word in the English language, but that one is a new one for me.”
“Don’t worry; if you stick around another 35 years, I’m sure you’ll learn even more.”
Tee-jus….so tee-jus.
