I SAY TOMATO, YOU SAY TOMATE
12:47 PM La Americana 9 Comments Category : bicultural , bilingual , Cuba , Language , papi , Spanglish , Tomate
PAAAA-PEEE
dada
dada
PAAAA-PEEE
dada
PAAAAAAA-PEEEEE,
chica
dada
Until
recently, this exaggerated riff between my husband, Luis, and our
14-month-old, Ana, was daily. He wanted her to say papi,
which
is daddy
in Cuba, but she continued to default to the American version. Finally, she dribbled it out and now calls him papi
in
shotgun
repetition anytime he's within reach. Luis is, to say the least,
overjoyed.
I think about how strange it would
be to raise my children in a country that isn't my own and how I
would try to integrate my foreign world into theirs.
Language is a good start. It's
more than a collection of words; it's a direct line to home. What we
say and how we say it is a massive part of identity, embracing
nuances, humor and familiarity embedded in us since birth.
Consequently, we carry the linguistic, cultural bundle with us
wherever we go in the world.
Yet,
anyone who immigrates has to adapt. Point, Luis is called papi
by his youngest and his oldest and daddy by his middle child. Marcos
used to say papa
for years and one day last year, just like that, he switched to
daddy.
Luis never blinked, never tried to
sway him, accepting his American-born son as is.
 |
| Marcos, Luis and Ana |
 |
| Luisito with Ana |
In our blended household, we've
all evolved, communicating in what may appear to be a riddle, a
Spanglified Dr. Seuss of sorts. It goes something like this: Luis
and Luisito speak Spanish to one another. It's a 50/50 hybrid of English
and Spanish with me, nearly all Spanish to Ana and almost all
English to Marcos, though he understands Spanish and will respond to
it, but in English. The exception is with his sister, to whom he
tries to teach Spanish.
“Sissy,
this is a león,”
he says, holding up a spongy, feline bath toy. “Cómo
hace el mono,
Sissy?” She makes funny monkey noises in response to his question.
His
efforts with Ana largely trail mine. I read and sing songs to her in
English, but I primarily speak Spanish to her, just as I did with
Marcos when he was little. I am, in fact, ironically, the main
source of our kids' español,
looking to their dad and big brother to clean up whatever messes I
make.
Let me be clear here: I minored
in Spanish in college, lived a semester in Madrid and have been
married to a Cuban for 10 years, but I do not speak like a native and
I never will.
Children need
to be exposed to a language before three years old and about one
third of their awake time to be actively bilingual, according to
Christina Bosemark, the founder and director of Multilingual
Children's Association.
I'm the one with the kids the bulk
of the weekdays and if I don't get that other language in there, it
won't happen. So you can imagine the looks I get out and about as I,
the fair skinned, light-eyed, freckly Southern girl, carry on with
Ana, and Marcos at times, in Spanish:
The other American mothers at the
park: Look at the duck!
Me: ¡Mira el pato!
“Let's go eat lunch,” they say.
“Vamos a comer,” I say.
“Get down, Johnny” they coax.
“Bájate, Anita,” I press.
Body parts and other animals, the
sun and the moon, milk and juice, crackers and cookies, it's all in
Spanish, too.
My
family is very sweet, never saying a word, but they have to think I'm
a bit loopy. The way I'm raising my kids has nothing to do with the
way I was brought up. I had a great childhood, but it was insulated.
Pretty much everyone I knew was white, middle to upper-class and
from the South. The
only time I remember hearing Spanish was on the monorail at Disney
World and it sounded as much like a caricature to me as Mickey and
Goofy with its over enunciated diction. I didn't have a clue what
the recording was saying and don't remember striving to.
So
is all of this screwy? Am I doing
it all wrong, speaking a language that isn't my own to my infant
children? Am I confusing them?
Experts
like mothers to speak their native tongues to their kids, which makes
sense, but
toddler speech therapist, Rebecca Hawkins Haas,
takes it easy on me. She suggests that what I'm doing isn't an issue
as long as there is no language delay by age three.
Marcos said very little at age two
and we were told within days of entering a morning school that he
might need professional help. I was open to it, but I knew
instinctively he understood, though mostly in Spanish at that time.
It's what the American-Speech-Language-Hearing Association calls a
'silent period,' which is normal for many bilinguals. It was only a
matter of weeks of being around children his age for hours at a time
that his jumbled faucet of Spanish and English turned on and it
hasn't stopped since. Today, he has a strong first-grade English
vocabulary and a clean Spanish accent when he speaks.
But
I have wondered what is it, really,
that pushes me to speak Spanish to my kids, when it doesn't come
naturally to me and frankly, when I'm often too tired to even speak
English?
Of
course, I want them to embrace both sides of their family trees and
to be able to talk to their grandmother, Abuela
Ana,
in Cuba. They need to find her relevant, know how much she adores
her family and how much fun she is.
And yes,
there are a
million and one studies about cognitive advantages that bilingual
children hold. They tend to learn faster, have larger vocabularies
and a leg up as job-seeking adults. Certainly, it's
a gift for children to have access to more than one language from a
young age; they won't have to work as hard as Luis and I did.
But there's more. It wasn't until
Marcos was three or four that I figured out what it was.
My little boy is curious, in a
global way. Standing at my hip, he asked to look at Savannah and
Havana on a map. After peppering me with questions about his
island-bound family and how his daddy grew up, he veered far right.
“What's
that?' he asked, pointing to China. This led to questions about
food, culture, weather and time. We looked up answers I didn't have
on the Internet together and discussed. Back to the map, hard left.
They speak Spanish in South America, right, Mommy? Like Diego (Dora
the Explorer's jungle-roaming cousin)? Further school-age
investigation. These types of conversations continue today.
Also
around that time he began to tell Luis and I what language to speak
to whom. English to local family members, his teachers and Spanish
to abuela
and Cuban friends visiting. He wants everyone to understand and to
feel included. Empathy.
Soon came silliness with my dad using Spanish words Grandaddy
doesn't know, joke, joke, giggle, giggle – note here, using humor, not fear or
separation for differences in his world.
Those are important things to
carry into adulthood, I think, especially when you look at the world
we are in.
Open, as always, to discussion!
The spectacular Lucille Ball: Lucy Tries to Speak Spanish
Folks, Spanglish is here to stay.
Fascinating read.
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