the poetry, prose and other musings of Catherine Jones McClarin
Sunday, November 22, 2015
I was eight when we moved to Georgia. To better assimilate, I quickly picked up the local accent, including the pronunciation of "pee-can." Mother, born and raised in Virginia, tolerated my "you reckon" and "bray-yud", but on this she drew a firm line in the Georgia red clay. "No ma'am," she said, "it's puh-kahn. A pee-can is something folks without indoor plumbing keep under their beds on cold winter nights."