pardon my american

If you ask an American how many countries speak English, I'm guessing you'll get an answer from roughly two (American and England) to four (the linguistically savvy will now add in Canada and Australia), and if an American encounters someone with a different accent, they'll almost automatically assume the speaker's British (which of course is the same as being English).

Since geo-political distinctions across the pond are a bit hazy, it may or may not be realized that Scots, Irish, Welsh and English have different accents (we'll just leave the distinctions within a country aside entirely for now; at this point we're doing well to get Liverpool and London placed within the same country), and, gosh, we're up to seven countries now, can you believe that? We'll think a bit harder and add in New Zealand. South Africa, though, is always the clincher. Maybe it would be easier to remember if we had any idea they spoke English there. And India, oh yeah. That brings us to ten, and I'm reasonably well traveled in the English-speaking world, but still have a funny feeling I might have left somewhere out. Additions or corrections, anyone??

I never realized my accent was something to be ashamed of until I traveled. I thought I had a nice accent, more academic than Southern, more even-keel and standard than NYC and certainly much better than Kentucky. When I went abroad (or overseas, I should say), I suddenly realized that it was. Everyone heard my accent and thought, American, here we go again. An accent doesn't just convey a set of sounds, it conveys a set of stereotypes. Everything anyone thinks about America comes coasting to the forefront of their minds when they hear an American accent. Generally that means politics, and generally I don't want to go there. Generally everybody else does.

You can tell the American accent is so distasteful because anytime a Brit or Australian tries to do one they always end up sounding miserably hick. And suddenly it hit me: that's what I sound like to them. No wonder they never stop mocking us.

To be completely honest, I'm terrible at recognizing different accents. I have a vague idea that if you sat me down in room with the ten most distinctive speakers of ten different English accents and had me place them correctly I'd be able to do all right, but that's probably just wistful thinking. I listened to sermons for weeks here before it hit me that our pastor was English (he made a joke about the Queen).

If I think to listen for an accent I have a better chance of identifying it, but even then it's tough going. Some people just seem to have an ear for it and some people just don't. Oddly enough, the Poms (those would be Brits) all seem to be in the former category.

If I were in America, I'd of course recognize another English accent as being non-American, but if I heard the same speaker amid the throngs of justifiably-placed Australians here, I'd be a lot less likely to call them out.

It starts out the same for the Australians here: when they hear me, they know automatically that I'm not Australian, but they seem to think it's pretty ridiculously clear I'm North American. (They're a bit more geographically savvy. They know about borders and stuff.) Some ask if perhaps I am Canadian?, a question I always find odd. Canadian? How many Canadians do they meet over here? Evidently enough that they've learned it's much safer to ask an American if they are Canadian than a Canadian if they are American.

At first I was amused and didn't really mind, but after the fifteenth time or so it started to get to me. First off, are there really that many Canadians here? (And why, as a side note, do all the Australians want to go on holiday to Canada? Don't they realize it's colder, much, much colder, than Sydney? Then again, why do Australians want to go on holiday anywhere when they live here?) And second off, they're asking because they're trying to be nice and polite and tactfully point out that they would never dream of making that dreadful mistake of assuming I, a seemingly nice individual, could possibly come from That Big, Bad Country. Gee, thanks. Yes, actually, I do, and, yes, actually, I love it, and, no, actually, I do not want to be Canadian, thanks for asking.

But really there's no pleasing me, because the other pitfall of someone asking me where I'm from is me shying replying, "America," and them going, "well, of course I know that. Which state are you from?," which I find also distasteful because there they go making those nasty assumptions. How do they know I'm American? I might be Canadian for all they know. Really, it's not like they can tell the difference.

My students are my favorite. Poor souls can't tell a Southern from a Scot (can't understand either), but are always excited when they hear I'm American. (It's so amusing: they think they can tell Brits from Americans because of "caHn't" vs "can't," yet in actual practice they're inevitably surprised to learn I'm American. They've just been assuming I'm English (when I was in England) or Australian (here).)

Yes, I know they're thinking Friends and Calvin Klein and Seinfeld and Hollywood and New York and LA, but it's nice to know they're genuinely excited about my country -- like I am about theirs. It's a cultural thing, too -- when they're meeting another foreigner in a foreign place, they're not going to roll their eyes and say, oh, sorry to hear you're from there. The Brits and Aussies have no such compunction. They really are sorry.

PS: To all my Canadian, British and Australian friends -- no, you guys haven't been offending me. Contrary to popular belief, some Americans actually can get your jokes. ;)