Voice (Chapter 1 and 2)

As a kid, I didn’t worry about volume or power of my voice because I had to spend too much time trying to form the words correctly. When my mother first told me I had to go to speech class I got nervous because I thought I would have to stand on stage and announce Shakespeare. I was happily surprised when I entered an office with a handful of other kids playing games. So from first to fifth grade I went to these classes, skipping out of other lessons or going very early in the morning. I got “th” and “s” confused and had trouble with “sh” and “ch.” I was also generally a messy speaker. Many times I would say something and kids would never respond, not realizing I spoke or feeling too awkward to ask me to repeat.

I should have been in speech longer, but once I was in middle school the service was only offered after hours. My parents figured that I could get by because I no longer messed up syllables so it wasn’t deemed necessary. Those days I was still asked to repeat, and sometimes I just stayed quiet because I didn’t feel like pronouncing everything. And as time went on, people started noticed my impediments less and instead focused on something else.

Towards the end of eighth grade, two boys made fun of the way I moved my hands when I spoke. I’m half-Italian and when I get very comfortable and excited tend to wave my hands around. They challenged me to talk without them, and naturally, because there was so much hype over this, I had a hard time. But maybe it wasn’t just because I couldn’t; maybe it because I didn’t want to. Though the school was only fifteen minutes from South Philly, lots of kids commented on how I said “wuder” and when “library” became “liberry” because so many of the students in my school were daughters and sons of transferred professors and lawyers. Most of their families came from out of state while most of mine were in the same county.

So during the first week of freshman year at IC when my friends didn’t know what the word “beggle” was (it’s bagel), I wasn’t surprised. My accent has been addressed to me so many times and I’ve learned how to use it to my advantage. Whenever I want to charm someone I suddenly make sparks with my hands and do an almost Fonzie-like “eh” followed by a typical ‘talian “yoo know.” Instantly I become your average Jane—or should I say Janie Marie Palermo.

Sometimes I still get into my mumble pattern and get frustrated when I have to put in so much effort to be understood. And when I do get mad the accent comes out, waving arms and all.