When my youngest brother was around four or five, my father was very disappointed to learn that my other brother and I had informed Aaron, with requisite elder sibling superiority, I'm sure, that it's "SPA-ghetti" not "PA-sgetti". When David began to talk, I planted myself firmly in my dad's camp. Those little guy mispronunciations are precious and fleeting. When we started homeschooling, though, I had to adjust my stance somewhat. Now I correct all but the most endearing improper English for the school-aged kids. This one, however, I left alone.
Brother H: (Pretty much all of his side of the conversation was in italics, but the emphasis shown here is on words that were italicized-er.) Mommy, what's destructive-er, an atomic bomb or a GUH-nuclear bomb?
Older brother: (with disdain) It's "nuclear bomb" not "GUH-nuclear bomb".
Brother H: (no loss of confidence) Well I call it a "GUH-nuclear bomb".
Me: (jumping in before an all out battle over the proper pronunciation of various weaponry) I'd say a nuclear bomb.
Brother H: You mean GUH-nuclear bomb.
Me: My bad. I'd say a GUH-nuclear bomb.
This exchange put me in mind of this Brothers H favorite poem...
Rhinos Purple, Hippos Green
My sister says
I shouldn’t color
I shouldn’t be so stupid;
Those are things
She’s never seen.
But I don’t care
What my sister says,
I don’t care
What my sister’s seen.
I will color
What I want to-
By Michael Patrick Hearn