Tuesday 16 April 2013

Is "American Polyglot" an Oxymoron? ...I Think Not


I'm easily excited by visiting non-English-speaking destinations. There's a thrill for me in functioning in another language. I suppose it's a bit like getting continuous positive reinforcement. Think about it. The people with whom you are communicating are reassuring you that you have properly learned a language you have taken the time to study hard, simply by understanding you. It can feel rewarding in the same way it felt as a child when the teacher handed back a quiz that said, “Great job!” at the top in red cursive.

When I was six years old, I began to study Hebrew. I remember I had this hologram ruler with the Hebrew alphabet on it. I would hold that blue, green and orange ruler in my hands, staring at it as the letters changed from one form to another as I moved it ever-so-slightly. I would write my name from right to left as I had been taught, staring at it, unexplainably giddy knowing that this was still my name, but I could express it in a another way, using what felt like a special type of code. As I child, I believe that I grew to enjoy studying Hebrew because I liked the idea of being a code breaker. At temple, I would follow the service in my own prayer book , tracing the words with my pointer finger, reading each word just a fraction of a second before the rabbi or cantor pronounced it.

Strangely, at the time I didn't recognize that I enjoyed foreign language, so when I got to seventh grade and began studying French and hated it, it didn't seem surprising to me. My teacher often seemed fed-up with the group of twelve-year-olds in our class. I'm pretty sure we were jerks and I'm equally as sure that he was burnt out, but I don't know which came first, the chicken or the egg. I just know that by the end of eighth grade with the same teacher, I still didn't understand the concept of verb conjugation, and while I could produce a short, two-man conversation in French that I had learned by rote, I hated my experience and thought I hated French.

When I got to high school and sat down in Mrs. Brigham's classroom, French changed forever. Here was this fantastic Belgian woman, who seemed excited to be standing before this group of teenagers who had chosen to study her native language! She approached us with enthusiasm, wanted us to love French, and gave us the tools we needed to learn it well. She found ways to teach us about circumlocution, telling us to “talk around it” when we didn't know the exact word for what we wanted to say. She helped us to practice a more authentic French accent by modeling the position with her own lips and reminding us to “tighten [our] jaw”. When a fellow student would intentionally butcher the beautiful sound of French into his own rendition - a combo of an American accent mixed with the frequent addition of o's on the end of words to remind her that he had previously been an (unsuccessful) student of Spanish - she still managed to smile, passing a test of patience that even I was failing.

I studied French right through the end of high school, enjoying it more and more each year. When the opportunity arose to stay with a family in France during my junior year, I jumped on it. I had a feeling it was going to be wonderful - I had no idea it would be life-changing. In the weeks I spent in that lovely home in a Parisienne suburb, something extraordinary took place. I began to dream in French, think in French and felt a constant sense of joy that I had never before experienced. It hit me one day after a long afternoon at Versailles with some fellow French students. I had spent the whole day chatting with David (that's Da-VEED, not DAY-vid), a French boy who was hosting one of my American peers. After heading “home” that evening, I was reflecting on my day and the many things about which we had spoken. Suddenly I realized that among our topics – castles, relationships, school, public transportation and gastrointestinal problems – we had talked about all of it in French. How had I managed that? Somehow, I had become very competent in French! I was reeling!

When freshman year of college rolled around and it was time to choose my courses, I was rocked by the idea that I could study other languages in addition to the French I had studied in class, and the Portuguese I had been informally learning with my Brasilian friend and her family. By the end of college, I had taken courses in French, Hebrew, Portuguese, Spanish and Japanese, and lived in Brasil and El Salvador. My simple American life had gradually been transformed into a multi-lingual life that had taught me about people all over the world. The more places I visited, the more I realized how valuable it was to be able to communicate with people in each country. 

There are approximately 21 Spanish-speaking, 33 French-speaking and 9 Portuguese-speaking nations. When I think about how many doors have been opened in my life due to being able to speak these languages, I am eternally grateful to the many enthusiastic language teachers I have been fortunate enough to have had, and to the many good citizens of the countries I have visited who have welcomed me with open arms, taught me about the place in which they live and helped me further my passion as a citizen of the world.

If you are a parent, may I encourage you to teach your children the value of really learning another language? It's not always easy and I recognize that not everyone is as receptive as I came to be, but there are things you can do to cultivate interest in language, and there's no better time than when children are still young. There are online games, Global Child programs, Rosetta Stone, and often there is community involvement that will teach them to appreciate other languages and cultures. In the end, it will mean contributing to filling our world with not just tolerant but compassionate, interested individuals, and a greater possibility of world peace, one step at a time. 

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