Aunts are wonderful people to have in one’s life unless, of course, one’s parent has someone with attributes like those of Cruella Deville or Lucrezia Borgia as a sibling. Depending upon whom one is talking to, though, pronunciation of the familial term itself can vary greatly. So far as your compiler knows, the three most common pronunciations – in this part of the world, at least – are “ant,” “ahnt,” and “aint.”
Your compiler grew up using the first and last of those pronunciations. His family used the first if talking about an aunt; the second, if talking to her. “You need to meet my “ant” Ara,” your compiler might have said to someone back when his Aunt Ara was still living. But when he introduced the two, he would have said, “Aint Ara, this is my friend ________.” Regrettably, there is no illumination in asking why; that is just how most people of good standing used the pronunciations in Middle Georgia during your compiler’s youth, and often yet today, although your compiler doubts a one of them could explain the why behind that custom.
“Aint” seems to be the sole pronunciation of the term in upland regions of the state and at least in much of the Appalachian foothills of neighboring states. There one may hear, “I need to talk to my aint about it,” a usage which sounds substandard to your compiler’s ear, but which seems to be acceptable in many places. Standard pronunciation, after all, is far more of a de facto phenomenon than a de jure one, and as such it almost wholly depends on where one is from and on what one grew up hearing.
As for “ahnt,” your compiler really cannot say. In his experience, it is the common pronunciation among Northerners as well as African Americans. Furthermore, he is reasonably certain that it is the original and present British pronunciation. So while your compiler must humbly concede publicly that “ahnt” is almost certainly the preferred pronunciation to most of the world’s English-speaking people, his private conviction shall always be that the combined usage he grew up with is, if not necessarily highest and best, then certainly most comfortable. If a reader does not believe him, just ask his “Aint” Sylvia, his favorite “ant.”
Or ask his second cousin, Sheila, whose childhood nickname, for reasons he can no longer summon to memory, is “Cricket.” About forty years ago, Cricket married her high school sweetheart, a fine man to whom she is still wed, who has the not-universally-appealing surname of “Roach.” If her sisters’ children and grandchildren were to use the dual pronunciation scheme which Cricket and your compiler grew up with, they would refer to her as, “Aint Cricket.” But if they chose to address her as “ant” instead of “aint,” one’s first thought might be to call the exterminator, for what one would hear would be “Ant Cricket Roach,” which sounds like a veritable insect parade, and which tends to put one in mind of the Burl Ives song, The Ugly Bug Ball. Hopefully, Cricket’s nieces and nephews avoid all confusion and simply call her “Aint Sheila.”
