Yesterday our family enjoyed a visit by our friends Chris and Ann O’Neill. Chris and I served together in Argentina. He was an extraordinarily devoted and charismatic missionary. A lot has changed over the past 25 years, but not his sharp wit or fabulous personality. Chris is from North Carolina and although he still speaks with a classic southern accent, it may be a bit tempered after having lived among Yankees for 20 years.
Last night he was teasing my young daughters and he asked them, “Does yer Daddy spoll ya? Are y’all spolled?”
Erika gave me a furtive glance that confirmed what I suspected: she didn’t understand; she was following him until he introduced new vocabulary, but now she had awkwardly lost the scent. Natalie too. They knew it was a question but didn’t know what he meant.
Chris started laughing. He knew that look; he had seen it before on a Hixon face. 25 years ago, shortly after he arrived in Argentina, we were companions for the evening and he struggled to teach a lesson in Spanish. I was providing “spot interpretations” for a few words as needed, but when he looked at me and said, “Plah Tholl,” I didn’t understand. He repeated, “Plah Tholl” and despite the hint of urgency, I still could not interpret what I couldn’t understand. Given the context of a lesson on priesthood blessings, perhaps I should have understood that he was saying “apply the oil” but for me that is five syllables, not two.
2 comments:
I should think that living in Texas would give them a little edge on that southern accent. ; )
Dave,
I have gotten a lot of mileage out of that story out here in very Yankee Utah!
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