What about my Brooklyn accent?

Truth is, I never knew I had a Brooklyn accent. Growing up in Dyker Heights, Brooklyn, my friends’ grandparents who had emigrated from countries like Italy, Syria, Greece and Lebanon had the accents, not me.

I first “felt” my accent when I was a doctoral student at the University of Buffalo. I was enrolled in molecular biology; a challenging class that introduced me to the emerging science of cloning and gene expression. I asked a lot of questions. 

For the first time in my life I felt self-conscious about my accent. Maybe it was the smirk on my professor’s face or the stares of my smug classmates who were mostly from Long Island.

Looking back now, I often think, they were from Long Island, what the hell did they have to be so smug about? 

Despite my Brooklyn accent, I successfully completed the class. One of the Long Islanders commended me on my performance, however, the complement was short lived because he followed it by saying he was surprised I did so well. Apparently, my thick Brooklyn accent had made me sound like an idiot.  Honestly, I don’t remember my response, but whatever it was, I’m positive my accent was extra thick.

On the flip side are memories of times when my Brooklyn accent made me unique, approachable and memorable. As a professor at The Sage Colleges in Troy, New York, I often made my downstate students feel at home. Most students were entertained by my accent. Hey, if it held their attention, I was happy. 

One of the best experiences I had was when I gave a research presentation to Italian biochemists in Todi, Italy. After my presentation, a few scientists approached me saying that although they had heard a number of Americans speak that day, I was the one that was most clearly understood.  Wha-do-ya think of that?

As accents go, I always wanted a British one, especially when I was in graduate school.  A British mentor of mine would come into the lab and just utter “good morning,” and it would sound important, like I should be taking notes. I used to copy his tone and tried to diminish my accent by speaking slower and lower, but that just made me sound like I was delivering bad news or wasn't feeling well.

The older I get, the more I love my Brooklyn accent. Unlike my face, it hasn’t aged a bit. It’s as rich and energetic as it was when I sat on my stoop on eighty-second street. Fairly often, someone will ask me how long I’ve been out of Brooklyn. When I say it’s been forty years, they respond incredulously, “and you still haven’t lost your accent?”  

Nope, still got it.