As I’ve mentioned, our family has spent the past year watching A LOT of football. And when I say “football”, what I really mean is soccer. That other football, the one Simon is never allowed to play owing to the alarming rate of brain injuries sustained by its players, is known as “American football” in these parts. And when I say “these parts”, what I mean is our house.
All the football we watch is European, and the vast majority is English. Figuring that Simon watches about 2 hours a week of live games, “Goals on Sunday”, and bits of “Fox Soccer News”, most of which feature a cohort of British announcers and commentators, that means he hears A LOT of British English. He calls teams sides, the field is the pitch, etc. He’s got it down. I think he’s even deemed a goal “smashing” by now.
Turns out, the British affectation is not just limited to football. Tonight he and Matt were playing a little geography game with the map in his room. “Find a country that starts with a ‘V'”, Simon ordered. “Venezuela” Matt answered quickly.
“No, Daddy. Not Venezuela. It’s Venezueler.”
You just can’t make this stuff up. How long until I’m “Jessicer” I wonder…