Aside from my extreme language immersion experience with Sesame Street, I grew up in a pretty white, middle-class neighborhood, went to Catholic school with other white Irish and Italian American kids, and played manhunt with my three brothers in the backyard. It was a pretty peaceful life, but I had little exposure to foreign culture aside from occasional trips to visit my Aunt Cyndy in Baltimore, where we would order the pu-pu platter at her favorite Chinese restaurant and see the NutCracker ballet. Despite my sheltered upbringing, or perhaps because of it, I always had a yearning to discover more about the world and its peoples.
I'm not really sure how it happened, but at some point in the following years, I just started speaking Spanish. Not only could I find the exit and ask for a drink of water, but I could ask you for your views on same-sex marriage and gun control. It just clicked into place one day and started making sense. Language is always a work in progress, and I am still learning something new every day. It's a very difficult dilemma for a perfectionist like myself, because it is an ongoing process that will never be complete or perfect. Learning a second language has taught me to accept imperfection and to understand that I won't always understand everything.
I'm not really sure how it happened, but at some point in the following years, I just started speaking Spanish. Not only could I find the exit and ask for a drink of water, but I could ask you for your views on same-sex marriage and gun control. It just clicked into place one day and started making sense. Language is always a work in progress, and I am still learning something new every day. It's a very difficult dilemma for a perfectionist like myself, because it is an ongoing process that will never be complete or perfect. Learning a second language has taught me to accept imperfection and to understand that I won't always understand everything.
I feel like a very rare breed of American. In fact, as I was traveling through the Atacama Desert in northern Chile, a Frenchman heard me speaking Spanish (beautifully, I might add) to another traveler, and commented, "A bilingual American? Isn't that a surprise!" as if it were an impossible concept to grasp. Maybe he wasn't too far off the mark. I think many Americans would love to learn a second language, but it's not easy. We are privileged to speak the so-called modern day lingua franca, but we thus suffer in our opportunities to learn a second language and truly understand another culture. Learning Spanish was a struggle. Mexico isn't so close to Pennsylvania. I had to spend a lot of money and time taking intensive language classes. Then I spent even more money traveling to Latin America several times, eventually landing in a rural Chilean village, a place deep enough into the mountains that no one spoke English. The difficulties associated with that experience were numerous. There were cold showers, dirt roads, and intestines on my dinner plate.
I was inspired to write this blog after taking a job working with immigrants. I'm not talking about migrant workers or bus boys. My colleagues are mostly Korean immigrants plus one Brazilian and one Colombian, and they are all courageously learning my mother language. I know how hard it is to learn a second language, and I know that many Americans can be unforgiving to those who are trying. I admire my co-workers for their bravery, and I would like to use this space to talk about my own experience with language, travel, and culture, as well as my thoughts and observations of my brave comrades and anyone else who dares to "speak the English."
