We've lived in a Chinese neighborhood for a year and a half and it has brought many interesting things into our lives. In many ways, moving here was a happy accident. We chose the apartment--the neighborhood was incidental. Among the best things about living here are:
- hand-pulled noodles
- duck (if you're Deston--that kid loves him some duck)
- Egg custard buns (hmm, there's a lot of food in this list)
- Chinese New Year (next year we're buying decorations)
- Red Apple Child Development Center
In addition to learning math and how to read, Deston is learning Mandarin. He is the only non-Chinese child in his class and his Chinese teacher often addresses the whole class in Chinese. They sing songs, learn poems, and practice writing characters. They count in Chinese.
The other day I was trying to get Deston to practice saying a Chinese poem and he came out with the quote at the beginning of this post. He's really shy about speaking Chinese at home--he claims to "not remember" most of what he's learned. We told his Chinese teacher about his resistance to practicing at home and in a decidedly non-tiger way, she advised us not to push him. He needs to enjoy it.
I tried to impart to Deston how lucky he is to be learning a second language. I told him that not all kids have this opportunity. Neither Drew nor myself speak a second language fluently enough to teach it to our children. Neither of us lived in families that spoke another language at home. Neither of us started learning a second language until we were adolescents.
I would change this aspect of my upbringing. I would have liked to start learning French earlier. I also wish I had applied myself a bit more when I was learning it. I remember my seventh grade French teacher (totally blanking on her name, but she love elephants) liked to guilt her classes about their lack of dedication to learning French. She used to shame us by telling stories about elementary school children who were already fluent. She definitely succeeded in making me feel like crap, though I can't say I worked harder.
Downstairs, our landlords speak three languages--Arabic, Spanish, and English. Rabiha is almost three and speaks a mostly unintelligible combination of all three of these. Her mother tells me that she has a hard time making Rabiha speak Arabic--she'd rather speak English like her older cousins. Deston's classmate's Dad told me that Deston is probably learning more Chinese than his son. So, just having two languages present in the home doesn't mean smooth sailing.
There's a certain bond that speaking another language gives to a family. I remember being at a friend's house in high school and her parents would speak their native language when they wanted to communicate something I wasn't privy to knowing. Spanish speakers in Brooklyn do this all the time too--they'll be speaking English and switch to Spanish when they want to keep it private (from non-Spanish speakers anyway). It's like being part of a secret club and the language is the code only members know. These are tight cultural and familial bonds that create a sense of togetherness. At least that's how it seems to me.
As I mulled over the subject of becoming bilingual, I realized that each family has its own little language. We all have phrases and sayings that are signify only to ourselves. This, I think, is essential to being bonded as a group. Every member can contribute.
We're going to keep Deston in Chinese lessons when he moves away from Red Apple. It might be something he keeps up with throughout his life. It might not. The exposure itself is good for him. Who knows where it will takes us.
1 comment:
As always, you have provided a well-written and insightful sharing of your family life. I completely agree on the importance of learning a second language at a young age. Perhaps Deston prefers not to do something in front of other people until he can do it very well - I remember his mother was like that as a child!
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