My mother is Swedish. As in ‘born and raised in Sweden‘ Swedish, not ‘my great-great-great-grand cousin twice removed was from Sweden‘ Swedish. English is not her native language and she didn’t learn it until she came over here in her mid-20s. As a result of this, she has an accent (which, oddly enough, I can’t hear but am assured by everyone who meets her that she does have one) and sometimes she pronounces words kind of .. wrong.
Recently, she was telling me about a childhood neighbor of mine. When he was a little kid busy crushing Dixie-cups of water against his forehead during soccer practice, he went by ‘Danny’. Now that he is a fancy grown-up with a PhD, he is ‘Daniel’.
Or, if you were to believe my mother, ‘Danielle’.
The conversation went something like this:
Mom: Danny did an interview with so-and-so recently. Actually, he’s Danielle now. He doesn’t go by Danny anymore.
Me: Don’t you mean Daniel?
Mom: That’s what I said! Danielle.
Me: No, it sounds like you are saying Danielle. It’s (pronounced slowly) Daniel.
Me: Maybe you should just stick to calling him Danny.