I was helping 9yo Jack with his biography on Alexander Hamilton. We were discussing the island where he grew up, which Jack was pronouncing as “Saint Crux.”
“It’s ‘saint croy,’ actually,” I told him. “Or, you could even pronounce it ‘sahn crwah…’ ”
“Sahn what?” asked Jack.
“Sahn crwah,” I replied. “That’s how you’d pronounce it in French.”
“Oh. No offense, Dad,” said Jack, “but I wouldn’t trust your French. It’s terrible.”
Wow. WTF? Where’d that come from? Oh, yeah. I had told him that factoid at the park yesterday, when we talked about singing and speaking in other languages, and I confessed that Katherine would make fun of my French pronunciation because it was so bad.
“You’re right, buddy. Let’s ask Momma later to be sure.”
“Good idea, Dad.”
Reminds me of this comic, from a blog on learning French. You don’t need to know French to see that the only question asked of Dad is “Where’s Mom?”