I
grew up in West Virginia, and I’m proud of my heritage. But when I
was young, once in a while I did feel self-conscious about my home.
For
example, when I visited my family on the west coast, I often met new
people who, upon hearing I was from West Virginia, immediately looked
at my feet. I always assumed they were checking to see if my
hillbilly self was wearing shoes.
Maybe
I was oversensitive and imagining all of that. But I did not make up
my aunts and uncles teasing me about my accent. That was real, and in
my travels out-of-state, I met up with many others who commented on
my way of talking.
Several
years later, my self-consciousness about how I talked caused me to
pick Latin in college over the French I’d studied for three years
in high school. I figured the professor might not appreciate my
French accent with an Appalachian twist. I knew Latin was a dead
language, and I wouldn’t be required to converse in it.
So
that is why I didn’t learn to speak a second language until
recently. Now I am quite fluent in baby talk, and, boy, am I
thankful. My sweet little daughter jabbers at lightning speed
sometimes. Please allow me to translate for you.
Many
of Anna’s words are almost the same or identical to what we say in
English-- apple, cracker, cookie, and eat. Perhaps her favorite word
is the emphatic, “No!”
“Bonk!”
means that she just bumped her head, sometimes on purpose so she can
say, “Bonk!” “Up” means that she wants picked up. However,
“Da-da” can also mean she wants to be picked up, or, more
obviously, it can mean Daddy.
“Be-be”
is what she calls the baby dolls she drags around. “Na-na,”
accompanied by a finger-shake, is what she says accusingly when her
brother naughtily steals one of those be-bes away. A heavy panting
noise with her tongue hanging out means she’s telling you about
Calvin, our dog.
“Pant-pant
na-na be-be bonk!” means Calvin is naughty because he whacked her
with his tail and caused her to drop a doll and fall down and hit her
head.
However,
she still lacks the words to say, “I am the queen, and I haven’t
invited you to look at or speak to me. Remember my superiority.”
When she wants to say something along those lines, she scrunches up
her nose and puckers up her mouth in a sassy, exaggerated kissy face;
I call it her snooty face. And, because she’s my daughter, I like
to imagine she snoots with a little bit of hillbilly West Virginia
twang.
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In
our great United States, lines blur between languages and cultures.
That’s why a West Virginian (who was born in California and lives
in Maryland) can give you a recipe for Mexican pot roast modified
from an African-American cookbook.
The
original recipe calls for some flour and for browning the meat up on
all sides before roasting it, but I simplified it by throwing it in
the crockpot as is. I’ve tried it both ways, and I see no
difference. Our favorite way to eat this is to shred the meat, spoon
a little of the juices over it, and eat it on tacos, but it’s also
good served over rice.
Mexican
Pot Roast
chuck
roast
1
tsp. chili powder
2
tsp. paprika
1
tsp. salt
2
medium onions
10
whole cloves
2
cinnamon sticks
1
cup water
Combine
chili powder, paprika, and salt. Rub mixture all over the roast. Then
stud each onion with 5 cloves. Put meat, onions, cinnamon sticks and
water in a crockpot and cook on low for 6-8 hours until tender. If
you have a chance, turn the roast over after a couple of hours.
