While visiting my parents in New York, my family attended an after-services reception at my parents’ synagogue. A friendly older gentleman approached one of my sons and began chatting with him, asking where he was from. “Boston,” my son replied. “Where?” asked the gentleman. Thinking that perhaps he was hard of hearing, my son said again, a little more loudly, “Boston.” “Where?” the man asked again. “Boston,” my son repeated, then added “Massachusetts.” “Oh,” said the man, comprehension dawning on his face, “Bawston!”
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