Polyglot I’m not:
learning a new language
Commentary
by JoELLEN COLLINS
Now
children are being introduced to other than their native languages at an
earlier age than I am, and lots of speaking is encouraged. International
travel is more common now for Americans, who were more provincial and
isolated from the rest of the world when I was young. Thus, Americans are
more broadminded about the need for fluency in one of the languages that
is spoken beyond our boundaries.
I have the
utmost respect for anyone who is bilingual, or, for that matter, anyone
who can communicate, even haltingly, in another language. I sympathize
with elderly immigrants who find it almost impossible to learn a new
tongue, for I am struggling now with learning another language, and it’s
hard going.
Some of the
challenge is genetic and some self-imposed. One of the blocks I have to
overcome is my pride in speaking a high caliber of English, (friends refer
to me as the grammar sergeant) thus my timidity in speaking something
else. Educators acknowledge that the earlier a child learns a second or
third language, the easier it is. When I went to school, we didn’t study
a language until the 10th grade. That late start plus the social milieu of
her classroom must have made it hard for Mrs. Silva to impress her
beautiful Spanish on us. Also, teachers then stressed rote learning; the
only time we spoke Spanish out loud was after we memorized a few lines for
homework.
Now
children are being introduced to other than their native languages at an
earlier age than I am, and lots of speaking is encouraged. International
travel is more common now for Americans, who were more provincial and
isolated from the rest of the world when I was young. Thus, Americans are
more broadminded about the need for fluency in one of the languages that
is spoken beyond our boundaries. I applaud our adoption of an idea held,
necessarily, by Europeans for decades.
I have
tried to learn languages and have faltered along the way. My two years of
high school Spanish didn’t stick: I felt like a dummy in my third year
of the course taken in college. I eventually tried French, since I knew I
would be required to read it as a component of my graduate studies in
English. Once again, I found myself hating the memorization that was
required before we ever tried to speak. On my travels, I found myself
shutting up before I dared attempt to communicate in French. I did pull
out all I knew when my two young daughters and I were hopelessly lost in
Paris after a strike had caused our ferry from England to land in
Zeebrugge, Belgium. We had spent the night driving around little towns
along the way, worried that our concierge wouldn’t let us in as the time
sped by. Fortunately, the transvestite hookers who guided us when we
stopped along the Champs’Elysee at 3 a.m. were kind and accurate and we
arrived safely.
I’m sure
many of us have hilarious tales of the misuse of the vocabulary of another
tongue. One summer when I was a young teacher I traveled by myself to
Greece and Spain and managed to get along without any clear disasters. It
wasn’t until I was on the plane heading home to the United States that I
realized why one man who kept following me in Madrid had been so
persistent. It probably had something to do with the fact that when I
meant to say "Go away!" I kept shouting "Venga, venga!"
which I’m sure most of you know means "Come, come!"
So 11 years
ago, when I underwent a month of extensive language training for the Peace
Corps in Thailand, I was full of trepidation. Not only am I poor at other
languages, I thought, but now I’m older and have developed short-term
memory loss. Sure enough, I was put in a group of slow learners, watching
some of my fellow volunteers sail through acquiring their fourth or fifth
language with ease. I cannot forget the day I floundered at the task of
recreating an imaginary trip to the post office, conducted in a small
circle of other students. I couldn’t seem to get the piece of wood which
represented the postman to get to the post office via the right and left
turns we had labeled in Thai. I actually went to the bathroom and cried,
feeling like a kindergarten dunce.
Although my
Thai friends gently teased me when I made mistakes, I took the kidding in
good spirits. And I did actually manage to get around Thailand speaking
the language, although sounding like a 2-year old idiot. I could engage in
simple conversations on buses in remote parts of Thailand. As long as I
let my listeners know how much I loved the Thai people—and Thai food—we
could talk . So perhaps I wasn’t as awful at the language as I thought,
although I never did master reading Thai, as the Sanskrit alphabet only
swam before me on pages or billboards.
Now I am
tackling Italian. I wish to learn enough to at least attempt communication
in the country I plan to visit next. I will be living in a renovated
farmhouse in Umbria on the border of Tuscany for almost six months,
beginning in October. I’ve dedicated myself to listening to tapes and
writing down what I hear as I say it. This way I can use more senses: I
learn better when I also see words on a page, then repeat them orally. I
hope it works.
I will
continue to write columns from my small room in the town called
Villastrada, so I’ll let you know. In the meantime, arrivederci!