Duck, duck...goose?

I never knew how different Minnesotans were compared to everyone else until I moved 1,500 miles away. By different I don't mean worse, weirder or inferior, but I also don't mean better. Just...different. Specifically with words. Everyone knows about the great pop-soda debate that rages coast to coast while no one out here could identify a hot dish.

Last night, another example.

Louise told a story. At one point she talked about the children's game "Duck, duck, goose." I chuckled. My poor foreign wife, all confused again over a classic American game. Duck, duck, goose?

"You mean duck, duck, gray duck, right?" I asked. She insisted it was goose. My mockery soon turned to pity. I wondered if she also chanted "Blue rover, blue rover, send Kyle right over," with her Cape Town schoolmates.

"Honey," I explained, "we played it all the time in school. Teachers taught us. It's definitely duck, duck, gray duck." But while I pitied and mocked her, she did the same to me.

"Shame," she finally said, with a tone of voice she'd use if I told her I still believed in Santa. "You really believe you're right."

To the Internet. Wikipedia, first paragraph of the, hmmm, duck, duck, goose entry:

Duck, Duck, Goose is a traditional children's game often first learned in pre-school or kindergarten. The object of this game is to walk in a circle, tapping each child's head until you finally choose one to be the new picker. It is called different things around the world. In Minnesota, it is called 'Duck, Duck, Gray Duck.'

So there. I was right. But wait. Only in Minnesota do children play gray duck? A fact that's apparently so odd it has to be called out in a Wikipedia entry? So we were both right, but I suppose, since Louise has the rest of the world behind her as supporting witnesses, she might have been more right. In fact, it gets worse for my side of the argument. Wikipedia's anonymous writers and editors report, "In parts of the US state of Minnesota the game is called Duck Duck Gray Duck, with "gray duck" replacing "goose" as the designation for the next picker." Now it's not even every town in the Land of 10,000 Lakes? How small is this part of Minnesota? Did just southern Minnesotans play gray duck? Just Janesville kids?

Duck, duck, goose. Never heard of it. Really, that's what everyone else plays? Which Minnesotan changed it, and why? Is it the same person who insisted on calling casseroles hot dishes?

Incidentally, Duck, Duck, Goose (gray duck) has a 1,600-word entry on Wikipedia, which is excessive by about 1,356 words.

The Fury household has been home to several of these types of debates. A few months ago, Louise refused to believe me when I told her you used your mouth to frown. She said it had to do with the brow. No, you furrow a brow, I said, you frown with your mouth. Turn that frown upside down, etc., a line an eternal optimist like Louise should be familiar with. Again we hit the Internet. And again...we were both right, and both wrong:

The appearance of a frown varies from culture to culture. Although most technical definitions define it as a wrinkling of the brow, in North America it is primarily thought of as an expression of the mouth.

Again, though, Louise was more right. It's humbling, being a writer and copy editor who's often stumped and topped by his wife's knowledge of the language.

We've had other disagreements over definitions and more serious difficulties over interpretations. A year before our wedding, we drove from New York to Fargo, where Louise would spend several weeks living like a Midwestern housewife. We'd be around each other all the time, except when I was working. Somewhere in Ohio, Louise started worrying about our upcoming attempt to play couple. She wondered if I'd get sick of her being around so much.

I took the next exit off the interstate and pulled my Cavalier into a rest stop. Turned the car off. Took her hands into mine. Looked into her eyes. Looked into her soul. Took a deep breath. Smiled.

"Honey, I can't spend too much time with you."

"Oh," she replied.

Turned the ignition on. Pulled back on the interstate, satisfied that my statement qualified as the most romantic event since Richard Gere hauled his gal out of the factory at the end of Officer and a Gentleman. If I didn't have my hands on the steering wheel in a classic 10-2 fashion, I might have given myself a pat on the back. After 15 minutes of silence, I couldn't understand why Louise still seemed depressed, mopey. When I asked, she said, "You can't spend too much time with me? That's supposed to make me feel better? That you can't spend too much time with me?"

Wait, wait, huh? I went over the sentence in my head. I can't spend too much time with you. Ah, I see the misinterpretation. It sounds like I'm saying spending much time with her would be a drag, that I can't picture being stuck with her for too long. But what did I mean? That no matter how much time I spent with her - even if it was 24 hours a day for six weeks - it wouldn't be enough. Not close to enough time. There, doesn't that sound better? She finally understood, and believed me. A few minutes later, Delilah came on the radio with her soothing voice and a relaxing song and all was fine.

Then a few years ago, it was Louise's turn. As I lamented something about a writing project - probably wondering when I'd write another book and why hadn't it happened yet - she said, lovingly, "How much potential do you think you have?"

Well, I thought quite a bit, until you put me in my place with that statement and convinced me that I was delusional, a fool. How much potential do I think I have? Not much, I guess. Thanks, honey. That's what I heard. But she meant that I'd already accomplished a lot, that I was already ahead in whatever imaginary career game I was playing in my head. I'd written a book, done some other things. In other words what was I upset about, what was I supposed to have done at that point? Surpassed Frank Deford?

Again, interpretations.

I'm sure more incidents like that will come up, although even with those two examples, I think her shot hurt more than mine. We'll eventually talk our way through these confusing debates, explaining what we really meant.

But some disagreements will remain forever unresolved, destined for debate. But I know I'm right. You frown with your mouth. And when a group of small kids sit around a circle tapping each other on the head before chasing each other, they're playing Duck, Duck, Gray Duck.

Right?