When I was a preteen, my mom and I somehow got onto the topic of Winnie the Pooh, and I said Tigger's name out loud. She said, "It's pronounced Tigger?!"
I said, "Yea, it's pronounced like how it's spelled. Tig-ger."
She said, "I read a Winnie the Pooh book for story time at your brother's class, and I was pronouncing it 'Tiger' the whole time." She was downright shocked.
I was like, "Mom, how have you lived your whole life not knowing that this is Tigger. He's Winnie the Pooh's wild and wacky friend. And look at the spelling! It's a double g. Of course it's a soft vowel sound!"
"But he's a tiger! Why wouldn't his name just be 'Tiger'?"
I thought it was so funny. She was so embarrassed to have read a whole book to my brother's classroom, mispronouncing Tigger's name the whole time. Why didn't the teacher correct her? That's rude if you ask me. Why didn't the kids correct her? Some rude ass kids. Don't these kids' parents teach them any manners?
"I'm sure the kids didn't notice, mom."
"I read the WHOLE BOOK. Saying 'TIGER.'"
"I know. I'm sure they won't remember."
"Why didn't your brother correct me?"
"Well, he probably thinks it's 'Tiger,' since you never taught him any better."
"Don't blame ME."
"I'm not placing any blame. All I know is I somehow managed to learn the correct pronunciation of a fictional tiger's name. No thanks to you. My poor brother on the other hand... Talk about a lost cause."
"Just kidding, mom. Don't worry."
She could not get over it. I had to just let her wallow in her regret. That was the day my mom's life briefly turned upside down. I did what I could to console her, but some wounds cut too deep. Goddammit, Tigger! You bouncing douchebag.
Okay, I took it too far. Tigger's alright. Eventually, my mom laughed about it. She and Tigger are on good terms now, I think. And on that note, I'd like to wish all mothers a very happy Mother's Day. Thanks for all you do. Mothers bring so much joy and love to the world. They may not know everything, but that's okay. We figure it out together. Maybe sometimes, we figure it out a little too late. Like after we read a whole book to an entire classroom. But again, that's okay. We keep on bouncing. Thanks, mom. Thanks, A. A. Milne.