Black Dad Energy African American Black History Month Shirt Father’s Day Gift

On a more profound level, I think I was reacting to a place that felt less and less familiar, attempting to contextualize my notion of “home.” Today, I scold my younger self for complaining about the Black Dad Energy African American Black History Month Shirt Father’s Day Gift but I will buy this shirt and I will love this privilege of a summer in London, but I also know that for children, what is most enticing is whatever your friends are doing. A tan, the trophy of an American summer well-spent, wasn’t attainable in England’s July hailstorms. Dr. Shah thinks of accents as personal hallmarks. But as I started college, having two accents became my signature. “She has this whole other British accent,” friends would say after hearing me on the phone with my mother. “Come on, just do it,” they’d implore, begging for my linguistic party trick. I hoped they didn’t think I was faking it. Boys often wanted to hear it. The accent I’d once hid was now a boon.

Black Dad Energy African American Black History Month Shirt Father’s Day Gift, hoodie, tank top, sweater and long sleeve t-shirt

Because what is an accent really? It’s a declaration of regionality or an affectation, a vehicle for assimilation or even mockery. And for me, it’s a cocoon of self-protection and a way of feeling at home. It’s a vehicle for deflecting the Black Dad Energy African American Black History Month Shirt Father’s Day Gift but I will buy this shirt and I will love this questions that arise from a skin color that’s hard to parse and a last name often considered unusual. It’s an attempt to ignore the inevitable question “where are you from?” (which really means, “what’s your ethnicity?”) before it has even been asked. My accent is often on my mind as I navigate life milestones. Walking down the aisle to be married, I was consumed not with the existential gravitas of the moment or with missing a step in front of loved ones. No, as I walked to the altar, I focused on how I’d speak. Not whether my voice would break with tears or if I’d mispronounce a word of my vows (it turned out to be ‘culinarily,’ which briefly sounded, to the shock of my betrothed, like ‘cunnilingus’), but which accent I’d use.