Thing Of Joy, Them On The Green

The new VW Passat commercial (misheard Elton John lyrics) has brought a concept into the spotlight that is ... well, you could say it's a bit of a family tradition.  My life has been seriously littered with things misheard (nothing tragic, though).  A few years ago, the topic of "misheard lyrics" came up in discussion at work, and days later (ironically, Alanis? No: coincidentally) a friend of mine had the following word come up on her page-a-day calendar:

mon·de·green [mon-di-green]

noun

a word or phrase resulting from a misinterpretation of a word or phrase that has been heard.

Compare eggcorn.

See also malapropism.

Origin:
1954; coined by Sylvia Wright, U.S. writer, from the line laid him on the green,  interpreted as Lady Mondegreen,  in a Scottish ballad

(entry copied from here)

So there's an official word for it.  I'm sorry, Sylvia Wright, but you're Wrong.  The word shouldn't be "Mondegreen" but "Aminthankin" and I'll tell you why.

Some of my earliest (and fondest) memories involve my family, sitting down to dinner at the dining room table.  It was round, with leaves that made it ovalish.  It was a medium-brown wood, with awesome clawed feet and, here-and-there, the odd coffee mug ring or scratch on its wise old tabletop.  This was a time when it was neither shunned nor surprising to find an ashtray on the table - full, or just lightly dusted with cigarette ash, having just been emptied into the garbage, but not washed.  The dining set had chairs with spindly rungs.  Once, a rung broke off and henceforth became a "sword".  I specifically remember one of my two sisters, M, requesting that I play the part of Battle Cat to her He-man, so she could sit on my back, stretch the rung high into the air, and yell "By the Power of Greyskull..."

In fact, another day, that table held our family's first two cats - sister tabby kittens from perhaps a friend's cat's litter?  We had just gotten them, and were discussing names.  I think I was in the neighborhood of 3 years old.  However, despite the fact that it was nearly 27 years ago, I clearly recall M, then 5, soberly suggesting "Thing One" and "Thing Two" (from The Cat In The Hat).  Looking back, it would've made more sense to suggest Little Cat A and Little Cat B. We compromised and landed on Cleo and Tracy.  

A little while later, Tracy "ran off" ... an incident that would haunt me for years to come.  All we found was her little blue collar, and somehow my pre-K brain deduced that she must be out there, somewhere, waiting for us to find her, like a game of hide-and-seek.  Many hours I spent searching for Tracy, under the ruse of exploring the woods behind our house.  Strange that a kid should have a secret obsession like that ... but then again, I never claimed to be normal.

And I digress.  Back to the dining room table, around which we sat to eat dinner each and every night, preceded by a short prayer of Grace: "God is good, God is great, Aminthankin for our food.  Amen."  It's what I heard.  It's what I said.  Thankfully, and to the great relief of my immortal soul, I did not misinterpret Aminthankin as some lesser god, the provider of Kraft Mac & Cheese and Oscar Meyer wienies, to whom we'd also pray before eating.  Nope, I didn't know what Aminthankin meant, and I didn't really give it much thought.  It was a ritual.  A habit.  It came as naturally as turning off the lights before I left a room (if you know my father, you'd understand).  

Aminthankin: "And we thank Him ..."

And then there's another memory.  I can't have been much older.  We were riding in the car ... perhaps back from Grandma's house ... I was sitting in the middle seat of my dad's blue VW Jetta (in a time before cross-chest belts in the middle seat) leaning over, chin on palms and elbows on knees, so my head was between my parents in the front.  And Neil Diamond was playing.  And I was marginally amused by the fact that he was singing about "Reverend Blue Jeans".  Who is Reverend Blue Jeans?  Whoever he is, he sounds like a pretty good guy to me.

Reverend Blue Jeans: "Forever In Blue Jeans"

Again, when I was around this same age, M had a small pink radio/cassette player, with one speaker and a long antenna.  [Confession: I may or may not have broken this antenna and never told her.  I will consider my immortal soul free and clear of this 25-year-old burden]  I used to sit with that radio for hours, listening to Barry Manilow's Even Now tape (it was bright blue - ah, who am I kidding it is bright blue, I still have it), both sides, on the closest thing to "neverending repeat" there was in the 80s: *[play, flip the tape, play, flip the tape], repeat from * indefinitely.  My favorite song off that album was Copacabana, and I struggled to understand lyrics describing concepts completely foreign to my 4-year-old mind.  This one isn't as drastic, but endearing nonetheless.

She lost her - you bet - she lost her Tony: "She lost her youth and she lost her Tony"

Before you go accusing my parents of neglecting my ears, please understand that I was not alone.  Let me share just a few of my father's gems, either misheard or knowingly replaced.

There's a bathroom on the right: "There's a bad moon on the rise" 

(I still maintain that Dad made that one up, and everyone else is copying him)

Doctor Scholl's Chicken: "General Tso's Chicken"

In 1814, we took a little trip, along with Col. Mustard down the mighty Mississipp: "Along with Col. Jackson"

(there are additional, colorful lyrics about eating beans and passing gas, but I won't dignify them with reproduction)

Toe-Jam Football: Oh, wait.  Those were actual lyrics.

So really, I claim genetics.  Thank you, Dad ... for "the cross-eyed bear that you gave to me" (Alanis Morrissette).

Mrs. Pi