The other day, I was checking out of my doctor’s office and setting up for my next appointment. (Going to doctors is the extent of my social life, and I have very little room on my social calendar due to these commitments.) As my wife and I were leaving the office, a man stopped us and asked, “What part of New York are you from?”

I told him that I grew up in the Bronx but moved out to the east end of Long Island (don’t always say the Hamptons, as I don’t want them to think I’m one of those hipster doofuses that inhabit the region during the summer).

His reply, “Yeah, I heard that.” He meant my Bronx accent, of course.

A few years before I retired, I attended a conference organized by the AAMC, the American Association of Medical Colleges, of which I was a member as part of my duties as a Director of Financial Aid at a Downstate Medical School in Brooklyn. At this conference, I presented two sessions and took part in discussions at other sessions.

So, my voice often echoed in the meeting rooms during my attendance.

As is often the case, lunch is provided at these conferences, and open seating encourages meeting people from other schools and other geographical locations. Name tags often stating, “Hi, My Name Is…” help break the ice. I do wish these tags were placed somewhere other than on a person’s chest, as trying to read the name of a woman makes me uncomfortable, as it may appear I am gawking at their breasts.

Anyway, I am sitting at this table with a number of empty seats around me, and two women ask if they could join me. I welcomed them to do so and introduced myself, thereby saving them the awkwardness of staring at my breasts.

I did dare to look at their name tags and learned that they were from the University of Texas.

Soon into our conversation, in a beautiful Texas-Southern drawl, one of the young women said,

“I just loooooooove your accent.”

It tickled me to hear her say that but it wasn’t the first time I heard this.

One woman (it always seems to be women) in another venue asked if I was from Boston. At first, I thought maybe she heard a little of JFK or one of the other Kennedy boys. I took it as a compliment at the time until I started to think that maybe I sounded like Cliff from Cheers!

I love being from the Bronx, and I love all my Bronx family and friends who probably have Bronx accents like me. The funny thing is that I only hear a Bronx accent when it is exaggerated, as in saying Da Bronx, for example.

If we say that at all, it is to be funny.

No one has yet told me I write like someone from the Bronx, which wouldn’t be a bad thing.

I had a Latin teacher in college who either identified me as a Bronx Boy or asked us where we were from. However he made his analysis of me being from the Bronx, he proceeded to recite a snipet from Ogden Nash, “The Bronx, No Thonks”.

I wanted to reply, who gives a shit what a guy named Ogden says about the Bronx?

I encourage all my fellow Bronxites to treasure their Bronx accents and not give in to snob pressure should it arise. Do not exaggerate it but rather speak in the poetic cadences that we all share for having grown up in the Center of The Galaxy, AKA,

THE BRONX.