« Lapin. »
« Bunny. »
« No, lapin. »
This is a
conversation in my back seat. Alex, a
little over two years old, is surfing two languages. His sister, 11, is trying to get him to say
“bunny” which he actually knew how to say first and pronounces with an American
slurring of the n’s- buhh-ny! Big sis
has already gone through the same stages of language learning but doesn’t
remember when she too had to juggle with two words for everything.
I am not
the only mom dealing with two languages at home and the trials and troubles and
funny moments it brings. There are
beaucoup articles about this now, one very poignant and real that just came out
recently about a Canadian mom with Polish origins living in London trying to
teach her young son Polish. Each time I
find such an article, I eat up every word.
Not only is it a reflection of my own daily “struggle” but as a
self-proclaimed lover of languages, it is fascinating.
You can say
all you want about how bilingual folks may avoid dementia in later life. Or that we may be able to problem solve or
see things differently by having two languages to do it in. But what interests me the most lately is the
feeling behind those words- the cultural and emotional load in them.
Just as the
author of that article mentioned, each word “conquered” in the minority
language (in our house, English) seems like a victory for me. I can’t help but smiling more and encouraging
more when my kids come up with English words and expressions. And maybe it’s also because those new words
come through special situations, like during our vacation back home, when my
family comes to visit, or reading English books at bedtime.
Which
brings us back to the famous “buhh-ny”.
This one started with an adorably illustrated book called Happy Easter
Bunny. My aunt sent it to Juliette when
she was younger and now I read it to Alex and say enthusiastically at the end,
“it’s bunny!” when we discover he has been hiding Easter eggs for his mouse
friend. Alex imitates the tone when he
says it in other situations, and yes, that tickles me.
And though
I know very well my kids must learn French to survive in this country, would
you believe me if I almost feel down when I hear how many French words my
little one is saying?! He goes to
daycare with twenty other kids and hears French words all day from the nursery
workers. It’s only natural he is
learning all the animals in French and nursery rhymes in that language
too. It’s illogical for me to be jealous
but that’s sort of the feeling. So when
he says “cochon” for pig I am happy he has learned a new word. I say, “yes, cochon. And “pig” in English.”
That is how
a lot of my conversations go in this house.
I repeat what my kids say in French and then say it in English. Or in Juliette’s case, she often tells me about
her day in French and I ask her follow-up questions in English.
Perhaps
that explains this recent exchange with Alex, growing up in a bilingual
house. The other night at dinner as we
were watching the news, he started saying “mion” and I couldn’t figure out what
he meant. He repeated with the missing
first syllable to say “camion” then repeated in English for me, “truck” (or
“tuck” in his case, hey, he’s getting there).
Was he figuring out that when someone doesn’t understand the word one
way, he needs to switch to the other? It’s a lot for a toddler to handle, but
he is managing, just as his sister did.
I hope Alex
will learn to love both his languages like she does, too. At 11 she can do a passable British or
Australian accent though when she speaks she is decidedly American because of
me. And I felt like doing a dance when
she started using the expression “turns
out” repeatedly when describing some drama that happened at school. Thanks to watching Glee she has picked up on
some typical expressions (oh, and a few not so great ones like “to make
out”).
All in all
this process takes time but seeing how well my first child managed, I shouldn’t
worry too much about little Alex. We’ll
get there, one word at a time. And we’ll
try to enjoy the ride or should I say “voyage”.
