On the way to school this morning, I spied three robins hopping through the city park. I spoke over my shoulder to The Pony, my youngest son, "Oh, look. Robins. They're harbingers of spring, you know."
The Pony giggled, in the self-conscious manner of 7th-grade boys with changing voices. I asked what was so funny. "Don't tell me. You thought it was pronounced har bing erz, didn't you? In the tradition of your brother wearing muh kos inz on his feet, and wanting a copier/printer e quip ted with all the extras." I didn't add my other peeve of folks who have their pets spaded to prevent unwanted litters.
After an uncomfortable moment of silence, during which he thought I'd let him off the hook, The Pony ventured, "Actually, I thought it was pronounced har bring erz. Because they bring spring."
You can lead The Pony to vocabulary, but you can't make him pronounce properly.