"Saying what wrong?"
"The word 'regular'. You say 'reg-lee-ur' but it should be 'reg-u-lar'"
They sounded the same to me. I started repeating it over and over, "reg-lee-ur, reg-lee-ur..."
"That's IT!" she said, coming at me, "I am going to fix this."
|See that sister on the left? She has just noticed that the sister on the right|
talks like a baby, and she's going to DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. Don't
worry, middle sister, your Barbie Doll Cake is safe.
Sue was skinny, but so strong it seemed superhuman. She would pin me to the floor, tickle me until I couldn't breathe, then do it some more. And now, apparently, she was going to tickle me into a state of correct pronunciation.
"Here's how this is going to go. Say it right, or you're not getting up."
"REG-LEE-UR" I struggled, kicking my legs. Occasionally I could turn and give a good kick that would land somewhere on her thigh or lower back. This didn't stop her, but sometimes distracted her enough for me to catch my breath.
"Repeat after me: REG"
We went over and over it. I repeated each syllable correctly, then pronounced the word wrong. She told me I was never going to get up. The struggle continued.
Somehow, after the 50th or so incorrect pronunciation, the stars aligned, heaven opened up and a chorus of angels began to sing: I said it. I said, "REGULAR". Something clicked and I could finally hear the difference between what she was saying and what I had been saying.
Sue smiled. She said, "Say it again."
"Regular." I responded.
Sue got up, and pulled me up with her.
"Now don't say it wrong again. It makes you sound like a baby. Come on, I'll make you some Kool-Aid.
I seriously never pronounced that word incorrectly ever again. Sue knew how to get results.