Ta Maman vs. Yo Momma

I have a theory, and as far as I'm concerned it was confirmed beyond reasonable doubt last night at the bar, and the glory of pursuing writing, rather than a PhD in linguistics (which I've considered at length before) is that as a layperson I can use bar conversations as evidence and you can all just understand what I mean, whereas as an academic I have to spend three paragraphs describing what I mean by my name, which is even then apt to be questioned at some point.

I can also write really long sentences, Dickens-sytle.

So here's my theory. Having learned English, Spanish, some Tibetan, and some French, and having read some snatches of Italian and discussed this very question last night with a Phillipino man, I have realized that in every single one of these languages, the word that people use to call their mothers starts with an "m" sound. And the word that people use to call their papa starts with a "p" sound, or, in our case a "d."

With deference to Daddies, though, I will start with the "m" sound in mother-words. The "m" sound, present in all these languages, is formed by putting the lips together and breathing out while you open them. That's it. Closing, opening, breathing. It's an incredibly simple sound to make.

The "p" sound, similarly, requires closing, opening, breathing. And so the words we use to call our first people, the pillars of our infant world, the only people we really need to call out to in those first months of life, all begin with those simple sounds. Close, open, breathe.

Compare to, say, the "scra" sound. Or the "thra" sound, or even just the "na" sound, which requires a little more coordination - putting the tongue behind the front teeth and humming through it.

And also the way life wouldn't seem much worth living if our first words were "Scrotum" or "Thoracic."

And then, for the sake of general interest, you could just run through all the sounds you happen to know how to make and dwell on how basically fascinating it is that we've mastered some specific sets of sounds based on where we grew up, and that we use these sets of sounds - this closing, opening, breathing, humming and throating - to express anger. And love. And exasperation with customer service professionals.

It's that same set of sounds that we use to say things like, "No, I'm not stoned. I just think it's interesting."

That being said, it's incredibly easy to say "Mama" in French. And spanish. And Tibetan, and Tagala (the indigenous language of Phillipino/as). It's a basic and necessary enough sound that any of us could do it in any language. Sadly, if I go on to say ANYTHING else it becomes painfully clear that I am not French.

Because, of course, I didn't grow up hearing "r" pronounced through the back of the throat, as if with disgust. And I didn't grow up only half-pronouncing the few letters of words that aren't purely decorative. So its hard. It's easier in Spanish, for me, because pronunciation is so purely phonetic. If a letter is there, you say it. Not so much in French.

Sometimes the best way to describe French pronunciation is to place some set of letters at the end of the word in parenthesis, as though they are an afterthought. Like the "n" in vin (wine) & copain (friend). It's as if the n was there, hanging out with the rest of the letters, but it left when it saw you coming and now only its smell remains.

The good news is, if you get completely confused, and feel like a total ugly American with big, angular speech, you can always buy un boteille de vin for about 1 euro and drink it in anywhere you please. Then you can drink another, curl up in the fetal position, babble incoherently, and beg for your Maman. This, at least, they'll understand. They might even think you're French.