My parents decided one summer when I was a preteen, that they will not have a daughter with an English accent blemish their perfectly Canadian family. Every time that I tried to say a sentence, both parents kept on saying, "Don't talk through your nose! You're talking through your nose, again! None of the kids around here speak the way that you do! I said, don't talk through your nose! You can still say whatever it is that you want to say...just don't talk through your nose! What's your problem? You sound like you're from London...don't talk through your nose!" It got to the point, that I wouldn't watch a TV show, unless it had a British actor on it. I've spent that whole summer watching Mr. Belvedere and The Monkees. That's also when I've started retreating into my own little world, which was the London of that time, with Routemasters and black taxis. I've asked my sister one night, that summer if I spoke through my nose. She told me that I did, sometimes. I've told my sister, who happened to be as shallow as my parents, that I wouldn't be around, much longer. I'd either be dead, or living in the streets of London, England. My knowledgeable family doctor told my unknowing father, that I'm meant to have a Cockney accent, because of the way that my nasal passages are formed, that November. That it wasn't a personal choice, at that time, for someone who presumed that it was. I've come to hate North American TV and North American accents, to the point that it did become my personal choice to keep my accent. Perhaps, not the results that my family was expecting.
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The Family Enigma