7xMom: Just eat, whatever the meal is called

I didn’t realize until I had grandchildren old enough to point it out that I don’t speak correctly.

I grew up an Army brat, so I’ve never thought I had an accent or a particularly strange vocabulary since I lived all over when I was young. Apparently, I have been wrong and can barely speak a sentence without making a mistake.

I’m not quite sure how I managed to get two English degrees. I do remember, however, taking an elevator ride with one of my English professors and being corrected and schooled in front of everyone on the differences between “further” and “farther” and how I was using them incorrectly.

“Farther” involves physical distance, and “further” involves metaphorical distance. “I’m going to walk farther” vs. “Let’s discuss this further.”

My Southern misnomers totally confused one of my younger grandchildren who was visiting recently. The Southern side of my family has always used the word “supper” for the evening meal, eaten around 5 or 6 p.m. Any time after 4:59 p.m. was proper for my mother.

The only time we said “dinner” was for a bigger, more formal meal, especially for the mid-day meal on Sunday after church.

This is not correct, according to my 8-year-old grandson who has lived in Utah most of his life.

He got through breakfast on Sunday OK, probably because it was my Grandma’s Breakfast Special — chocolate chip pancakes.

Then home from church, I started talking about getting dinner on the table.

“What is that?” he said. “It’s time to eat lunch. Why aren’t we eating lunch?”

I tried to explain that dinner was a bigger meal in the middle of the day, like on Thanksgiving or your average Sunday.

He wasn’t buying it.

“Then what will we eat tonight? Lunch?” he asked.

“Well, it will be a supper, but it will probably be like lunch because it will probably be a sandwich since I won’t be cooking again,” I said. “That’s the best part about having dinner after church.”

Still skeptical, he didn’t eat much dinner and was hungry again in the late afternoon.

He chose to eat a bowl of cereal as a snack and called it breakfast again. A little later he was ready for supper, which he called “lunch,” since lunch had sort of gotten lost in the mix.

Luckily, the next day was Monday, and the universe was restored to its usual order.

The Arkansas teenagers correct me constantly on my mild Southern accent. Just this year they have schooled me on the pronunciation of words beginning with a “wh,” such as “what, where and why.”

I was not aware until they rudely chastised me that you don’t pronounce the “h” in those sounds. I never knew. One check I did online did say that older Americans tend to pronounce them, so for once I’ll claim my age as an asset.

At least they don’t correct me on my “y’all” like the older Utah teenagers do. But I’ll go to my grave saying “y’all.” It’s just the perfect word for its purpose.

I won’t even go into my husband’s West Virginia accent. He’s northern West Virginia, which is more Ohio Valley, so that really mixes things up. Let’s just say he can’t keep the color of his collar straight because he pronounces both “color” and “collar” as “collar.” The grandkids haven’t noticed that yet, though.

That’s OK. They can all make fun of me if they want to. I’m too old to change now. I’ll continue to eat Sunday dinner in the middle of the day and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich during “America’s Funniest Videos” on Sunday evenings.

And that’s just the when and what of it, whether or not you pronounce that “h.”