Kristy Kelly: Lost in translation
Life in my forties is a weird time. I’m too young to be old, but way too old to be young. It was quite the conundrum until I spoke to my twenty-three-year-old son. All it took was a single conversation with him to realize that I could no longer claim a youthful existence. In spite of being a writer for twenty years, I had absolutely no clue what he said to me.
The following is a re-creation based on the confused memory of a stupefied woman.
“Mom, I can't wait for your visit to Texas—it's gonna be bussin! I'll show you all the best spots, and you know we'll be flexing our drip. No cap, I’m the GOAT when it comes to finding good eats, so you're definitely gonna ATE. Just don't be too sus with your cheugy stories; keep it fanum, and we'll have a BOP of a time. Bet?"
What in the world! I definitely don’t feel old enough to have missed an entire revolution of the English language. My generation went from groovy to dope. We didn’t feel the need to alter the course of human history through the deconstruction of social vernacular. It kills me to be that person. Next, I’ll be standing on my front porch yelling at children to keep off the grass. I’m sure the Gen X Council will revoke my membership in the near future.
The evolution of language is nothing new. Because I tend to watch foreign television shows with subtitles, and also because social settings that involve more than three people are enough to break me out in hives, I missed the bus on the ability to relate to anyone younger than myself, apparently. How do other adults stay relevant in the eye of constant social change?
At least when the kids were home, there was television in the background where I would have at least heard the newfangled slang of their generation. Now that my children are adults, and my grandchildren watch personal screens instead of televisions, I’m left without an avenue to avoid turning into the crazy dog lady tweens make fun of. Also, as a writer, it would benefit me to stay current with how potential readers speak. (By the way, for those wondering: “bussin” means something is really good, and “GOAT” stands for Greatest of All Time. You’re welcome.)
The hilarity of this for me is that my son now speaks a language I’m only partially fluent in. As his mother, I can attest to the absolute importance of understanding every single word that comes from that boy’s mouth because anything inferred will be exploited. He’s grown and lives three thousand miles away, and the thought of the chaos he can create still makes me break out in a cold sweat.
Are there any other socially awkward introverted people out there who aren’t exposed to the emerging generation and their repurposing of commonplace words? Is there a South Park for this generation?
The gray hair didn’t bother me. A few fine lines magically appearing on my face? I can live with that. Losing the ability to communicate with other people because I don’t watch television is mind-boggling to me.
I guess I am that lady after all. At least I’m in good company.
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