I couldn’t pronounce the letter R until I was six. Once I could, it turned up in odd places where it was planted by my family’s accent. Boil some oil on the coil, and don’t add water. “Borl some orl on the corl, and don’t add werter.” To this day, I cannot, as myself, say “gargoyle,” “Oil,” or words in sequence with Rs and Ls. My children laugh when I say, “the gargrrrl ate the carn earrrl” in my normal voice and “the gargoyle ate the corn oil,” in a fake British accent. To fit in, I learned to speak like someone who is not me. I can talk with wealthy white people by dropping my natural speaking voice an octave and taking my accent in…