The more things change, the more they stay the same

When I got home from picking up the kids from school the other day, I was getting them out of their jackets and snowsuits and various cold weather paraphernalia (seriously, y'all, it's freezing here these days), when Zeke asked me for something.

"What do you want, honey?" I asked, not understanding him the first time.

"Kooo-ky."

"What?"

"KOOO-ky!"

I thought for a second. "You want a cookie?"

"Yes, please."

And I had to laugh. Because his pronunciation of "cookie" obviously comes from his teacher, who speaks perfect English, but with a Hispanic accent. It reminded me of one of my mother's favorite stories about me as a kid.

We were living in Venezuela, and I was about 4 and going to a Spanish speaking nursery school. My teachers were all Venezuelan and only spoke Spanish.

One day I came home from school and announced to my mother one day that I had learned "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," and proceeded to sing it for her.

I should have prepared her.

Or maybe she should have known and prepared herself, to avoid having to practically gnaw off the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing in my face. Because here's how it came out:

Tween-kell tween-kell leee-tell e-staarrrr
'ow I wohn-dare what yoo aaaarrr...

What can I say, I had a multi-cultural upbringing...