Caught in the grips of linguistic paranoia - The Boston Globe
When I was a graduate student (in French), a nice young couple from my church asked if I would teach their toddler some French. Completely ignorant of SLA for children - in fact, pretty much completely ignorant of children, since I had no brothers or sisters and had never babysat -- I said sure.
They invited me over one afternoon to hang out with their little girl and see how we bonded. I was being trained in the only-use-the-target-language-in-the-classroom religion, but I knew she would need a hook to hang what I said to her on, so I opened up one of her picture books and pointed to a picture of a dog. "Un chien," I said, smiling.
She wasn't having any. "Dog!" she replied, because of course that was what the thing WAS. Four legs, long ears, wet nose, wagging tail equaled Dog for her and nothing else.
We went back and forth a little, with me trying to suggest that Long-Ears could also be called "un chien," and finally, exasperated with me, she slammed her fist down onto the open book and screamed, "DOG!!!!!!!!!"
People are funny that way about the language they speak. It's not only our identity that is bound up in our language, but our very universe. "The words we use are strong. They make reality," as Wang Chung said. If you come along and tell me that my reality is not your reality, or is not the only reality, or may not even BE reality, I'm very likely to sock you in the nose just as my young friend did with the book.
Of course, as a language professional, I'm absolutely committed to multilingualism. I also happen to think it's a lot of fun. But it's worth bearing in mind that more is at stake in America's linguistic naivete than identity.
When I was a graduate student (in French), a nice young couple from my church asked if I would teach their toddler some French. Completely ignorant of SLA for children - in fact, pretty much completely ignorant of children, since I had no brothers or sisters and had never babysat -- I said sure.
They invited me over one afternoon to hang out with their little girl and see how we bonded. I was being trained in the only-use-the-target-language-in-the-classroom religion, but I knew she would need a hook to hang what I said to her on, so I opened up one of her picture books and pointed to a picture of a dog. "Un chien," I said, smiling.
She wasn't having any. "Dog!" she replied, because of course that was what the thing WAS. Four legs, long ears, wet nose, wagging tail equaled Dog for her and nothing else.
We went back and forth a little, with me trying to suggest that Long-Ears could also be called "un chien," and finally, exasperated with me, she slammed her fist down onto the open book and screamed, "DOG!!!!!!!!!"
People are funny that way about the language they speak. It's not only our identity that is bound up in our language, but our very universe. "The words we use are strong. They make reality," as Wang Chung said. If you come along and tell me that my reality is not your reality, or is not the only reality, or may not even BE reality, I'm very likely to sock you in the nose just as my young friend did with the book.
Of course, as a language professional, I'm absolutely committed to multilingualism. I also happen to think it's a lot of fun. But it's worth bearing in mind that more is at stake in America's linguistic naivete than identity.
