Speaking the same language

“So what do you do if there’s an emergency?” the policeman asked, squatting down in front of the little boy.
“You call 9-1-1?” the boy answered uncertainly.
In his classroom.
In Australia.
I was at the school as a reporter, not a mother, on this occasion.
We were working on a feel-good story involving a bunch of police officers visiting a primary school.
After an awkward pause, the officer said: “Er, no that’s not right mate, it’s triple-0 remember?”
The boy looked startled.
I was startled too.
I’m not sure I’d have answered the same but ‘9-1-1’ didn’t sound altogether wrong and so I’d just gone with it, smiling and nodding.
But, that’s right, 9-1-1 was the American emergency number.
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The increasing Americanisation of our next generation isn’t really new.
But it’s something I notice every day as a mother.
“When can we go on a vacation?” Master Eight asked me recently.
“Can I get some candy?” he asks often.
“Or a cookie?”
He brings his toys to life with an American accent.
And it’s not helped by Learner Dad, who insists he’s changing Li’l Fatty’s ‘diaper’ every day.
Which is ‘full of poop’, according to Master Eight.
Direct from Li’l Fatty’s ‘butt’.
Which is also called ‘the A word’, he says, meaning ‘arse’ but spelling it out ‘a-s-s’.
I know what you’re probably thinking: don’t let him watch so much TV then.
Master Eight watches up to an hour of TV a day.
In winter holidays it might be a bit more.
But television isn’t the only culprit.
I always take him to see the latest animated flick.
And you’ll find American voices on arcade games, DS’s, and, of course, the internet.
We gave Learner Dad homemade vouchers for Father’s Day.
I suggested one of them say: ‘Master Eight will take out the rubbish.’
He wrote ‘trash’.
And complained about the prospect of having to drag it up the ‘sidewalk’.
Fortunately school has a slightly combative affect, drumming our kids with Australian history, culture and language.
Master Eight might not say ‘G’day’ but he sure knows the national anthem.
“And thaaaaaat’s… Austraaaaaalia’s… faaaaaaaair…,” he sang triumphantly one day on the way home from school.
That was just after we’d been to the petrol station, where he leaned over and explained to Li’l Fatty that we were just stopping for gas.