Unit Four: Allophones & Dialects

Application Questions 5 & 6 (Freeman & Freeman pp 96-7)

5) The first two obvious allophones are the [p] sound found in spit and the [p^h] sound found in pit. When you say ‘pit,’ that infamous puff of air is produced;  in ‘split,’ it is not.  A third allophone would be the [p] found after the word ‘stop’ or ‘top,’ where the ‘p’ is almost stopped before it starts.  A fourth may be the [p] sound in a word like ‘problem’ where, to accommodate for the coming ‘r’ sound, the mouth seems to move the production of the ‘p’ to a looser, more outward position (if you attempt to mimic the exact [p] from problem when attempting to say pit, you sound like Droopy Dog).   Similarly, when followed by a [u] sound like ‘pool,’ the [p] sound is produced with the lips already anticipating the [u], almost as in a kiss-blowing shape.  If one tries to say the [p] in pool starting with the [p] in pit, there is a almost a glide added to accommodate.  If a NNS ELL students does have [p] in their first language, this does not necessarily mean that they would have all allophones.  For example, when [p] is followed by [ɹ], it has a special anticipatory production; for an ELL student whose L1 does not have the [pr] or [pɹ] combination, that may have never had to produce the [p] this way before and, therefore, may have a slightly different bank of allophones from which to recall production.  Alternatively, they may add a vowel (in the way that English speakers would add a shwa after the [v] in the Russian word “vprog”)  yielding something like “puh-roblem.”

6) In my last school, my students from the Bronx spoke a different dialectic of English from my own Central Pennsylvania version.  Their pronunciation differed in words like “didn’t,” where the second [d] was replaced by a stop to yield “di-int.” The word mister didn’t end in “-er” but in “-ah.” And there is the very famous “fuhget” as in “Fuhget about you!” There were different vocabulary words, as well, that went beyond generational gaps.  I had never heard cursive referred to as “script,” before, and anyone who demonstrated strength—especially if it were a girl, as in, unfemininely tough—was referred to as “brolic.” And the syntax of Bronx natives is fairly well known; structures were the verb ‘to be’ is acceptably absent, for example (“She nasty!” or “You sorry”).  And the negative, similar to Southern U.S. dialect, was typically structured around “ain’t” which was acceptable for both past and present tenses (“That ain’t right” or “He ain’t come today”).  

With my peers, I have discussed how the British English dialect is considered superior, especially in movies.  One can think of several historical films based in ancient civilizations where the British accent is used; we surmised that this is to instill a more respectable ‘historicalness’ to the character.  Similarly, there are often dumber characters in movies assigned with Southern U.S. accents (like the dumb truck from Cars).  My Southern teachers took offense to this phenomenon.   With my students, however, they recognized that their dialect was perceived in a way that was different from the standard Midatlantic American dialect;  they were conscience of switching into that dialect when speaking to me or another teacher (“You right” with a peer became “You’re right” with me).  And they explicitly recognized the value of code switching so that their native dialect did not send a wrong message to a non-Bronx speaker (in a college or job interview, for example).  In that regard, therefore, I would submit that one should only try to speak in a standard dialect in cases where it is obvious that this would provide the speaker with a (perhaps subconscious) edge.  We could debate whether or not this should be the reality—a sort of classicism of dialects—but in the mean time, it is reality.  By recognizing it, we are not simply ‘caving in’ and catering to it, but empowering our students for real opportunities.