For me, however, when it comes to choosing the wrong words it’s not so much mispronunciation as misunderstanding.
Some people remember where they were when they learned that Elvis died or JFK had been shot. I remember where I was when I realized that the title of that Stylistics hit was “Betcha By Golly Wow” and not “Catch a Flyin’ Polliwog.”
I was sitting alone in a car in the parking lot of the old Nichol’s store in Ephrata, listening to the radio. I’d tell you what I was wearing and what I ate for lunch that day, but maybe I’ll save that for another column.
At least I was alone when I had that revelation, which, by the way, helped me to understand the song a whole lot better. Misunderstood lyrics are way more embarrassing when you’re belting them out in front of people.
I can remember riding in the car with my husband, singing along with Stevie Nicks’ “Edge of Seventeen”:
“Just like a one-winged dove,” I crooned.
“I always thought that was WHITE-winged dove,” he said innocently.
Yes, I suppose that does make more sense. A dove with one wing would be more inclined to sing “ow, baby, ow,” not “ooo, baby, ooo.”
Of course, I’m not the only one that has this problem. At my old job, a co-worker and I used to keep track of friends’ misunderstood lyrics. One colleague thought Credence Clearwater Revival had the perfect fraternity party anthem with “There’s a Bathroom on the Right.”
And does anybody really know the chorus to Springsteen’s “Blinded by the Light”? I won’t tell you what I think it is, but let’s just say I know better than to try that one in public.
Among family and friends, however, I’m fairly comfortable with my disability. We’ve got a relative who likes “Lady Godiva” chocolate (You must eat it naked and on horseback) and friends who eat japaleena peppers and visit Grenobles Amusement Resort in Elysburg every summer.
And we can’t forget that fan of the magical Las Vegas tiger-training duo Six Feet and Roy.
Yes, in our family, Ryan Howard is a first basement and Allen Iverson takes shots at the buzzard.
Even the 3-year-old is showing signs that the chestnut doesn’t fall far from the tree. On our recent trip to Disney World, he entered the Magic Kingdom and exclaimed: “There’s Princerella’s castle!”
We like to promote transgender awareness in our family.
But, hey. Don’t feel sorry for us. Sometimes these misunderstandings and mispronunciations can result in brilliant ideas.
To occupy our youngest during the leisurely 19-hour train ride home from that trip to Florida, we purchased a giant Disney World sticker book.
As I watched him working intently on the book, I recalled Colorforms, those reusable sticker sets from my childhood.
I turned to my husband and said, “He really likes his stickers. Next time, we should try Chloroforms.”
Blank stare.
Clearly he did not have the same childhood memory. I tried again, this time more slowly.
“You know,” I repeated. “CHLO-RO-FORMS.”
I finally caught my mistake, but we both realized I might be on to something. A few whiffs of a wet handkerchief, and we all might have a more peaceful ride.
——— The Voices column is written by a rotating team of New Era staffers. It appears Mondays.
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