Peer Pressure
I've started to have a really silly identity crisis. At least I think it's silly, but I still think about it a lot. Okay, here goes.
As I noted when first moving from the US to Canada, there are a lot of little differences that add up, especially in terms of pronunciation, vocabulary, and spelling. They represent probably less than 0.5% of the language, but that's still up to one of every 200 words, and that's enough that practically every conversation has one.
At first I was amused and interested by them.
Now they've become part of the everyday world I live in. That's sort of the issue though. I've kind of absorbed it all. Like learning a language by immersion.
It all started off with some intentional allowances. At a restaurant I began asking for the bill instead of the check, and for the washrooms rather than the restrooms, because there are only so many times you're willing to wait through "Oh, you're American? Where are you from? When did you move here? Are you here for long?" when you really really just need to find a place to pee. "Hey, how about we sit down and have a long talk about it after I no longer feel like a river with a dam about to burst, alright?"
I didn't feel like those initial little changes were a major compromise of my culture, because, like I said, when you gotta go, you gotta go. Same for paying for your food so you can hit the streets again. Especially if you have to pay first before you can pee. Nevermind.
But then some of the more subtle stuff started creeping in, like the pronunciations of things which are still acceptable variants in the US. "Route" was an early one (though, oddly, only when used as a noun — I still can't do the "oo" vs. "ao" thing as a verb, perhaps because the word "rooter" for "router" implies a totally different kind of hardware to me, though I guess the same could be said for the converse case).
And then, as time progresses, under constant pressure from my Canadian friends and coworkers, whom I respect a lot, not to mention the Canadian spell-checker, which I respect at least a little, I get increasingly tongue-tied when it comes to saying words like "project", "process", "leverage", and typing words like "grey", "favourite", "cheque", and "colour". It doesn't help that I feel far more in common with most of of the people here than I ever did in the States (carefully picked selection of friends back home excluded, of course), so that further contorts my sense of identity.
The conflict becomes especially strong in an extended dialogue in which one of said words is a prominent component. It's almost like the words under contention start taking on a bizarre sense of false importance:
"Oh, green is definitely my favourite colour."
"I think, as far as colors go, my favorite is probably black, if you can call that a color."
"Black is a good colour, but not my favourite. Perhaps I could deal with grey."
"Yeah, I like gray, too. Do you have to have just one favorite?"
Starts to take on the same sort of tone as those sibling-rivalry conversations as a kid:
"Why are you waving that stick around?"
"This sword, is what I, a noble knight, carry around with me to defend the crown from its enemies."
"Where did you get that STICK anyway?"
"I was given this SWORD by the Lady of the Lake, thank you very much."
"You look dumb with that STICK!"
Once you start a conversation with a specific pronunciation or spelling, as weird as it feels to sustain a mismatch like that, it would be even weirder to inexplicably cave and switch over.
"Did you hear? Matt officially became Canadian when he was talking to me Tuesday. It's so weird — right there mid-sentence. And to think, I was the one who was there to witness it. I feel so special. Yay!"
Anyway, it's probably far less a big deal than I'm making it, and I doubt people really notice much one way or the other (most Canadians already hear as much of Americans as they care to from television and movies and lost tourists, so there's not much novelty value to Americanese — not to mention, most people are far more likely to take note of someone speaking differently than they do, rather than similarly to what they're used to), but it's still a question that weighs on me.
Should I cater to my sense of individuality and stick to what I was raised with?
Should I allow myself to blend in with the culture I feel at home in?
Or is it okay to continue to evolve this sort of Canadian-Texanese which is all my own?
At least the last option takes the least effort, and if nothing else, it gives the friends back in Texas something to make fun of. . . .
As I noted when first moving from the US to Canada, there are a lot of little differences that add up, especially in terms of pronunciation, vocabulary, and spelling. They represent probably less than 0.5% of the language, but that's still up to one of every 200 words, and that's enough that practically every conversation has one.
At first I was amused and interested by them.
Now they've become part of the everyday world I live in. That's sort of the issue though. I've kind of absorbed it all. Like learning a language by immersion.
It all started off with some intentional allowances. At a restaurant I began asking for the bill instead of the check, and for the washrooms rather than the restrooms, because there are only so many times you're willing to wait through "Oh, you're American? Where are you from? When did you move here? Are you here for long?" when you really really just need to find a place to pee. "Hey, how about we sit down and have a long talk about it after I no longer feel like a river with a dam about to burst, alright?"
I didn't feel like those initial little changes were a major compromise of my culture, because, like I said, when you gotta go, you gotta go. Same for paying for your food so you can hit the streets again. Especially if you have to pay first before you can pee. Nevermind.
But then some of the more subtle stuff started creeping in, like the pronunciations of things which are still acceptable variants in the US. "Route" was an early one (though, oddly, only when used as a noun — I still can't do the "oo" vs. "ao" thing as a verb, perhaps because the word "rooter" for "router" implies a totally different kind of hardware to me, though I guess the same could be said for the converse case).
And then, as time progresses, under constant pressure from my Canadian friends and coworkers, whom I respect a lot, not to mention the Canadian spell-checker, which I respect at least a little, I get increasingly tongue-tied when it comes to saying words like "project", "process", "leverage", and typing words like "grey", "favourite", "cheque", and "colour". It doesn't help that I feel far more in common with most of of the people here than I ever did in the States (carefully picked selection of friends back home excluded, of course), so that further contorts my sense of identity.
The conflict becomes especially strong in an extended dialogue in which one of said words is a prominent component. It's almost like the words under contention start taking on a bizarre sense of false importance:
"Oh, green is definitely my favourite colour."
"I think, as far as colors go, my favorite is probably black, if you can call that a color."
"Black is a good colour, but not my favourite. Perhaps I could deal with grey."
"Yeah, I like gray, too. Do you have to have just one favorite?"
Starts to take on the same sort of tone as those sibling-rivalry conversations as a kid:
"Why are you waving that stick around?"
"This sword, is what I, a noble knight, carry around with me to defend the crown from its enemies."
"Where did you get that STICK anyway?"
"I was given this SWORD by the Lady of the Lake, thank you very much."
"You look dumb with that STICK!"
Once you start a conversation with a specific pronunciation or spelling, as weird as it feels to sustain a mismatch like that, it would be even weirder to inexplicably cave and switch over.
"Did you hear? Matt officially became Canadian when he was talking to me Tuesday. It's so weird — right there mid-sentence. And to think, I was the one who was there to witness it. I feel so special. Yay!"
Anyway, it's probably far less a big deal than I'm making it, and I doubt people really notice much one way or the other (most Canadians already hear as much of Americans as they care to from television and movies and lost tourists, so there's not much novelty value to Americanese — not to mention, most people are far more likely to take note of someone speaking differently than they do, rather than similarly to what they're used to), but it's still a question that weighs on me.
Should I cater to my sense of individuality and stick to what I was raised with?
Should I allow myself to blend in with the culture I feel at home in?
Or is it okay to continue to evolve this sort of Canadian-Texanese which is all my own?
At least the last option takes the least effort, and if nothing else, it gives the friends back in Texas something to make fun of. . . .