I’m sitting at work talking to a couple of friends of mine. I could tell we were almost done talking by how long the pauses or silence had grown between each topic. In one of these long silences one of my friends had this to say, “Ya knoe, we art ta go over and sea ole sutch and sutch.” My ears were not prepared for this. Usually my ears filter this kind of speech, even when I do it, and I should have heard, “I say my good man, we shall desire to have a repose with the honorable sir.” Instead I heard how we really sound. It was shocking. I was born and raised in Oklahoma and I know we sound like hillbillies. I know this. I’ve trained my brain to translate okie-speak into something more dignified. I think all of us from the hick regions do this. For some reason the translator broke today. I heard what we really sound like. Damn!
I told my friend that “art” wasn’t a verb. He replied that he did not say “art”. But both my other friend and I heard it clearly. He definitely said art. I mean art isn’t a bad thing. There’s the song “how great thou art.” Evidently “art” is great. At least that’s what the song says and it’s a religious song so it carries a certain weight among songs. There’s the art that people create. You know art. Velvet paintings and angel sculptors or those little dolls people collect. I can’t remember what they’re called. Not the cabbage patch ones, they were just toys, those uhhhh beanie babies. Yeah, beanie babies, that kind of art. Still though it’s tough to make a case for art as a verb. I guess one of those velvet artist could say if someone asks what he is doing, “I’m arting.” “I’ve been arting all day.” “This arting is killing me.” “This arting stinks.” It doesn’t sound right though. I think we could get used to it over time but it doesn’t sound right.
When my friend arted it brought back memories of other times my translator didn’t work. I remember when I had first gotten married and me and my wife we’re riding in the back seat of my parents’ car coming home from dinner in town. It was a little stormy that night and it had begun to rain fairly hard. A particularly bright bolt of lightening struck not to far from the car when my mother turned around to tell us something. She said, “yall better git en tha fraidy hole with us befer uh torpeda gets Yuh.” I guess at that moment my mind was busy thinking of the storm and the translator didn’t work. I heard how my mother really speaks. I should have heard, “Upon arrival to our home, we shall repose to yon safe domicile for the weather is atrocious.” If you think I was shocked you should have seen my wife. I will never forget that look. That’s probably why I can remember this so clearly. My wife speaks three languages fluently. She loves language and words. She teaches Spanish at the local high school. Words are her thing. When my mother finished her sentence my wife stared at her, then at me. Her jaw was slack. Her mouth was open. She looked confused and horrified. Seeing this I quickly spoke up and said, “yes, we had better get in the Above Ground Storm Shelter in case a Tornado forms. My wife breathed a sigh of relief. When my mom turned around she had to work hard to contain her laughter as did I.
The other memory that hit me when my friend arted is a golf memory. I remembered standing on the first tee box years ago before my dad died. Every year we would have this tournament called the “Spit Cup” when my relatives came to fish for a week in the spring. We would choose two-man teams and have a golf tournament. We had a nice trophy and many accusations of cheating. None have been proven so far. Anyway, we were standing on the first tee and introducing each player as they do in a real tournament. An old friend of mine and my dad’s, I won’t say who he is, just that he’s a cheater, was warming up to tee off. Someone in our little gallery had something derogatory to say about his golf swing and how the ball was either going no where or going out of bounds. He looked up and said this, “Yew just keep yor peepers opun bowee. I’ma gonna warp this muther out uh sight.” Maybe it was because I was nervous about hitting my first tee or something, but the translator didn’t function at that moment. I should have heard, “Excuse me fine sir, but shall you refrain from pronunciating whilst I address thus ball hither.” He really did warp that mother. It went straight and long. He strutted back to the group and started really talking trash to whoever was next. I guess warp is acceptable. “I’ll warp you upside the head.” I’ve heard that expression on occasion. We art to warp this nag and git outa here befour that torpeda gits us. I’m getting my translator fixed.