…my made up words
Although it’s generally accepted that Jummy’s Mom is easy going and prone to giving hugs and erupting into laughter, and Jummy’s Dad is serious, goal oriented and somewhat reserved in manner, it is my dad who makes up the most words.  Some of his extremely silly words that were meant to be said, not written are bondokalo and baskoladuzo [spelling is approximate], words that have no meaning and can be used in almost any context.

I love making up words and mine are usually used in times of frustration so I guess they’re swear words.  My current one is shittymarinks, which is extremely fun to say and which I find myself saying even when there is nothing wrong.

BONUS:  A recording of me saying my dad’s silly words and my own.  Because pronunciation is everything.

…my tendency to converse in the same decibel of voice you’d use to warn someone of impending mortal danger
This one is courtesy of my mother, who has a generally elevated tone of voice.  When we are talking en famille, with the exception of my father we talk at far louder decibels than normal people, as if we’re anticipating someone jumping in and smothering the volume of our voice with theirs.  So a simple summary of my day ends up being yelled to my father, who reminds me that he’s right there in front of me and there is no reason to yell.

…my reluctance to purge
I mean this in the non-bulimic sense, obviously.  My mother is a pack rat and there have been times when I’ll suggest to her that we get rid of some item that has been sitting in our basement or shed for decades and buy a new one should we discover we need it in the future.  She will exclaim as if you’ve just asked her to give up one of her children or plants [it's a toss up which would cause her the most pain] and declare that we can’t discard this item because she NEEDS IT.  What she means is that she needs it to be in the house, not to actually be of use to her.  I’m steadily approaching her level of packrattiness.

…my ability to go on and on and on (aka verbal-and written?-diarrhea)
I blame this on both parents.  My mom enjoys a good phone conversation as I do, but it’s my dad who, following a gambit such as ‘How was your day?’ can launch into a discourse of mind numbing length [measured in half hour increments, not minutes].  You feel bad asking him to please stop talking but if you don’t, he won’t.  Ever.  At least he’s imparting pearls of wisdom [and he really is, so I feel bad asking him to stop because I'm sure these are the sorts of monologues conversations that I'll look back on and remember and hopefully learn from] rather than my brand of nonstop chatter, which is whatever gossipy item that pops into my head, or a garbled mess of something [I'm a flubbler].  But seriously, and especially after a glass of two of vino, the man can talk.  Unceasingly.

…my love of dancing
This is all my mom:  she cannot be in the kitchen for a minute without turning on some music (preferably Nigerian tunes).  She dances while she cooks.  She dances during commercial breaks, and dances over to my room to see what I’m doing and if I have music on in my room she’ll dance to it while asking me how my day was or when I plan to move out of her house.  If the music is good, it makes her move.  And I’m the same way.

…my relatively clean speech
I don’t swear often and if a swear word should escape, friends will usually look at me in shock as if to ask ‘who said that??!’.  Everyone who hears me swear tells me that they can’t believe I swore because they assumed that I didn’t swear.  Well , blame my parents for this one!  I suspect that my dad has never said a swear word, even in jest, and would mispronounce them: they are just not a part of his vocabulary.  And if you should swear in his presence, he will tell you that we don’t use words  like that in this house, missy and send you to bed with no supper.  My mom, on the other hand, hears my brothers swear often enough to know the words and chastises them when they use it.  But occasionally, she’ll repeat them, and she doesn’t even have the decency to wait until she’s actually angry before swearing!  The nerve!

What can you blame your parents for?

Filed under: Family, Love?, WurdyGurdy by jummy