(no subject)
Ok, I know that my updates have been pretty much null for, I don't know, ever. However, I was driving home from a friend's house at the wonderful hour of 5:30am; she had to work, and I had to get the hellz off her couch. I started to think about this essay I have to write for numerous Japanese abroad programs; not to mention scholarships. They want to know why Language, why Japanese, and what got me here.
I came to the realization that my father's side of the family, whom I do not talk to, and am glad I'm not required to, are, most likely, the rut of my aptitude for language, and my ability to mimic accents. This finally solved a long standing question of mine, and, at the same time, made that essay a breeze to finish.
My father's family is all from Arkansas, every moon shine swilling one of them. As I was growing up I was constantly surrounded by the Southern accents of my grandfather and grandmother; and I came into contact, just as regularly, with the Michigander accents at school, and the South Dakotan accents in my mother's family. Obviously, I developed the trick of slipping in and out of all three daily. (Of course this sure as hell backfires when I randomly slip into one and cannot stop.)
In addition to the accents, which in some cases made understanding words extremely difficult, I had my grandfather's declining health. When I was about 11 he suffered a series of stokes, approximately thee to four, which took out some mobility, and a good portion of verbal accuracy. Add in his heavy southern accent, and you can only imagine how hard it was for my family to grasp exactly what he was saying. And over the next 6 years he had about five more strokes and was pretty much incapable of taking care of himself. (food, driving, ect.) As I was free after school, the weekends, and during the summer, I was the live in nurse. I was literally the only person who could fully understand what he said at any point in time. And, after reaching his 11th stroke, when I was about 17, I had to sit bedside and translate; because, no one could understand a single word he spoke.
He eventually refused to eat or drink after stroke 12, and passed away. He did leave me with an increasable love for facilitating communication between people, a keen ear, and an immense amount of patience. I do thank him for all of it; and wish I would have known then how much he helped me form my core beliefs and abilities. Thanks Bill; "Aw shit damn hell."
I know that was long; but this is my journal for my memories. And I needed to put it down before I lost the epiphany. . . Now for some sleep!
Hugs & Puppies,
Jer-Bear
I came to the realization that my father's side of the family, whom I do not talk to, and am glad I'm not required to, are, most likely, the rut of my aptitude for language, and my ability to mimic accents. This finally solved a long standing question of mine, and, at the same time, made that essay a breeze to finish.
My father's family is all from Arkansas, every moon shine swilling one of them. As I was growing up I was constantly surrounded by the Southern accents of my grandfather and grandmother; and I came into contact, just as regularly, with the Michigander accents at school, and the South Dakotan accents in my mother's family. Obviously, I developed the trick of slipping in and out of all three daily. (Of course this sure as hell backfires when I randomly slip into one and cannot stop.)
In addition to the accents, which in some cases made understanding words extremely difficult, I had my grandfather's declining health. When I was about 11 he suffered a series of stokes, approximately thee to four, which took out some mobility, and a good portion of verbal accuracy. Add in his heavy southern accent, and you can only imagine how hard it was for my family to grasp exactly what he was saying. And over the next 6 years he had about five more strokes and was pretty much incapable of taking care of himself. (food, driving, ect.) As I was free after school, the weekends, and during the summer, I was the live in nurse. I was literally the only person who could fully understand what he said at any point in time. And, after reaching his 11th stroke, when I was about 17, I had to sit bedside and translate; because, no one could understand a single word he spoke.
He eventually refused to eat or drink after stroke 12, and passed away. He did leave me with an increasable love for facilitating communication between people, a keen ear, and an immense amount of patience. I do thank him for all of it; and wish I would have known then how much he helped me form my core beliefs and abilities. Thanks Bill; "Aw shit damn hell."
I know that was long; but this is my journal for my memories. And I needed to put it down before I lost the epiphany. . . Now for some sleep!
Hugs & Puppies,
Jer-Bear