Child…

My Mom exasperatingly emphasizing the Greek sound of Gamma Γ. It’s a deep in your throat sound like a swallowed g or a guggled y. I try again and you can almost see my Mom’s eyes exploding with impatience and disappointment…

“Anastasia!!! You too American! Ella child, Etsi na kanis.”

Another day of trying to tell her about my problems being interrupted by her correcting my pronounciation.

“Mama, you know what I mean. Let me finish.”

“No!” Her eyes flashing with fire… “You talk Greek or you don’t talk!”

Again I try the proper trill, choking on myself, wondering if I could tell her anything that mattered to me without it becoming something else and always ending with a fight.

“No Anastasia, you no listening! Moro, speak right! Just go, you don’t listen, I’m tired. You never listen, your brother speaks better.”

So I walk out defeated. I hardly talked to my Mom growing up simply because… I simply didn’t know how.