One Voice, Several Variations

“Hey Honey! How was your day?”

“It was gucci.”

“What does that mean?”

Mom never remembers my slang words. Then again, I don’t remember her version of slang words either. Its a two way street. Yet, there’s always that one moment when I enter the house, where our voices meet.

“Mom, it means good. We went over this.”

I raise my arms at her, signaling to her that she never gets my vocabulary through her head. If I use my Italian gestures, then she gets the picture. This is a daily routine for my Mother and I to go through. She just never catches on. This is until she picks up the language of mines that she knows how to understand. I thicken my Italian accent in the kitchen, and everything turns clear to her.

“Oh yeah, yeah. Now I remember.”

Like any other night, in the Cohen’s residence, actions speak louder than words due to hand motions being used (like any other italian family), conversations that turn into arguments while my inner Italian kicks in, and normal speaking turns into strong dialogue from the root of Italy. So many things going on at once while at the dinner table, inhaling a bowl of pasta. Typical Italians.

“Forget it Mom. You just don’t understand.”

“I’m right, and you’re wrong. Get over it.”

I clamp my five fingers together on each hand, shaking them back and forth to communicate with her. Using the gestures that an Italian chef would make after taste testing his food. I raise my arms and at times clench my fists. If you haven’t heard, Italians have a way with hands more than a way with words.

That fast I can change the tone in my voice, or the thickness in my accent. I can go from “Gucci” to “Benissimo” (good) in minutes.

Now, I don’t just sound Italian because I am italian. From the audience taking in my speech, I appear to seem like I am from several other parts of the world. To others, I’m apparently claimed to be from New York, the South, and others. But who said I have to be from a certain place just because I “sound” like I belong there? People chew up bits and pieces of my voice, and spit it out. They interpret glimpses of my voice and pay no mind at all to other parts. Once again, its a bittersweet, two way street. People tend to pay attention to how you say things rather than what you’re saying. Ouch.

I speak one way, and one way only. I may sound like I am from Italy, or New York, or even have the typical “South Philly” tone in my voice. Its not like I have an on and off switch for how to speak when I am with certain people. I have a strong accent. I can’t sit here and define the style of the way I speak. However, I can sit here and admit that my voice and the way I talk, have several different variations to itself. There are moments where variations of my voice are stronger than others, but that’s never in my control. I think a lot about how people actually claim what they sound like, or what kind of voice they have. Is that possible? Is it possible to sound the same, and say things the same way, every time you do say something?

When I enter my household, with the smell of pasta, and loud voices flooding the doorways, I enter the house to my Italian family. This for a fact is the only time where I know which variation of my voice comes in handy, on purpose. I am more Italian than anything when I am home because I am surrounded by people that have personal connections to the roots of Italy. Throughout the day, I use my hands very strongly to express myself. It just so happens that when I come home, my Italian accent gets thicker, the raising of my arms get higher, and the identity of my voice becomes clearer. Environments do influence a person’s own influence on how they want to present themselves. Now, I am influenced at certain times by certain things to encourage the variations of my speaking. But, once again, what is that called? The thing is, I choose to not call it anything. I don’t want to say a term of how to define my voice. I can’t define something that has too many meanings.

I never liked the label of having just one label to my voice. I don’t like being claimed as “She sounds Italian.” Or, “You sound just like a New Yorker. You have to be from New York.”

The author, James Baldwin, who wrote a story called “If Black English Isn’t a Language, Then Tell Me What is?” couldn’t of said it any better. He quotes, “It is the most vivid and crucial key to identify. It reveals the private identity and connects one with, or divorces one from the larger, public, or communal identity.”

I rather have my voice be divorced from the others, rather than connected with. I want my voice to be vivid and crucial to others. My voice is my identity. It is in safe keeping for myself to adjust, and for the audience to take in. If I sound like the others, than my identity would be hidden. I like my voice the way it is. If there are so many sides to me, and so many sides to my voice, why call it one thing? I don’t define myself as one thing, so why do it to my voice?

People should care a little less about what people sound like, and why they sound that way. I have one voice and several variations of it, but I come from one place. There’s nothing wrong with that.