His Astonishing Lack of Drawl

A friend’s recent post on accents and what they say about us brought to mind my personal issues with the spoken Queen’s Own.

I know I’m in peril of revealing myself through deductive disclosure and all. However, there are like no people here that have read all the posts and don’t already know who I am. Such a risk taker I am becoming.

I’m from Texas. Born and raised. On the playgrounds where I spent most of my days and so on (you already know the rest). This invariably fascinates people when they first get to know me. Apparently I don’t fit the mold of what a Texan is supposed to be, look like, sound like and think like. Well, unless I’m wearing my cowboy boots. I have a surprisingly abundance of Texas pride, provided that I’m not in Texas itself (it’s an elastic phenomenon). But while people always give me looks or crack jokes about it, the thing I almost always get first is “but you don’t sound like you are!”

I would like to say that I don’t know what someone from Texas is supposed to sound like, but sadly, as a cultural consumer, I do. We’re all supposed to speak slowly, with a lovable twang, folksy charm and possibly with a piece of straw sticking nonchalantly from our lips. That ain’t me. I’m a city dweller brought up by two parents not from Texas. Except for my loving use of the word “y’all” (Texas’ answer to the oversight in the English language of a second person plural pronoun), I sound like a national TV news anchor. I can sometimes, maybe, say a word or two that sounds like what people expect, but even that’s pushing it. I just happen to have very non-region specific diction (I think).

Everyone understands how annoying it is to be told you can’t be part of a group. But this is even worse. I’m being told that I don’t belong to a group that I actually am a member of, solely because I don’t fit their stereotypes of the group. It’s not like this with other ex-pat Texans. Whenever I run into one of those rare birds, we’ll talk about where each of us is from and maybe what chances the Cowboys have this season. That’s all it takes-we know. People in the group have no problem acknowledging our shared membership this simply. However, people who haven’t even flown over the place seem to think that by me not living up to their notions, I can’t be Texan.

I know it’s not meant as it comes across. I’m sure sometimes people say it to fill in those slightly awkward pauses in the getting to know you conversation. Part of it might even be a measure of praise, elevating me above what they believe Texans are like and supposed to be, though that’s infuriating in its own right. Given where I live and what I do, I’m guessing that it’s not shock that someone as lame as me could be associated with such a good place, but who knows?

Every subculture and social group has its cues for assessing membership, the shibboleths and secret handshakes. I think this particular case vexes me so because the membership is not being assessed by other members, but by people who don’t know anything about the club. It would be like if you were only able to get into an exclusive nightclub based on the votes of people walking by on the street who were oblivious of what was inside. They shouldn’t have a say, you’re already a member.

I speak plain. And I’m a Texan.

Deal with it.