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Lost in the haze of parenting, my husband and I discovered the Sherlock TV series just a few months ago. We enjoy crime solving shows, and we relished this British import.
That might be understating it a bit. We—by which I mean I—joined the Sherlock fandom.
I realized I had done so when family and friends didn’t seem to share my obsession. My husband declined excessive viewings, and a friend demurred when I loaned her Season 4 to watch in hospital. (OK, this wasn’t my top idea given the hospital-as-murder castle theme in Episode 2.)
Silly as it was, reigning in my Sherlock love was difficult. I wanted to share it because it was part of me. This, in turn, reminded me of a far more serious issue I observe as a parent and educator: Bilingual children having to reign in their non-majority languages.
Not being able to share part of themselves due to seeing it as, well, a bit unseemly.
Perhaps a teacher insisted that they “speak American,” or readers of a news article questioned their school’s native Spanish classes. Maybe they noticed that Donald Trump prefers immigrants who speak English. Or perhaps children have felt a scorn less explicit, yet still damaging: Neighbors who ignore their language though they hear them speak it daily, and could easily acknowledge it or ask to learn a word.
What if affirming children’s languages—all of them—is essential?
they seem to think
I can just switch
one half of me
on
and leave the other
half of me
off
but I’m like
warm water
pouring from a faucet
the hot
and cold
both flowing
as one
Excerpt from young adult verse novel Orchards © Holly Thompson
By now we know that language forms part of a child’s identity. We know that multilingualism fortifies the brain, and that it gives children advantages in school and careers—to say nothing of how it fuels the economy.
We know that like any skill, language requires exercise to maintain, and hard work to hone. This is why even native speakers of English take English classes at school, and why not just anyone can pen a publishable novel. Virtuosos in language are like stars in the arts or sports—they get lots of practice. And chances are their practice is praised.
Imagine a young cellist making state orchestra without many people affirming her hours of rehearsal. Or a runner setting track records while having to do his sprints in secret.
Imagine people spurning the runner, maybe even urging his school to have him quit varsity track, and take only beginner swimming.
In the beginner swim class, his fitness would help him progress quickly. But if he did only basic swimming and no track, his overall condition would suffer—his ability to both swim and run.
Language works in much the same way. A strong first language (like the athlete’s first sport) clearly helps with learning a second language. But stop the first language—subtract it—and you risk hobbling progress in the new language while causing the first to atrophy. Instead of fluency in both, you flirt with a limited bilingualism, in which a child cannot express herself adroitly in either tongue. This is tragedy, period.
How can we help?
Well, we can treat language like any other strength that a child has. See it. Nurture it. Support classes in it at native level in schools (the linguistic equivalent of varsity track) as well as ESL classes (swimming) for kids looking to conquer English.
When talking with bilingual children, affirm their non-English language:
Praise it: “Are you speaking Italian? Cool!”
Ask where they learned their language and how they use it daily.
Ask them to teach you a phrase—then use it when you see them again. “Ciao!”
If they are speaking to other people in the language, and not you, enjoy listening to the exchange rather than asking that everyone switch to English for your comfort. Language exists for communication, and if we ask kids not to converse, it’s a bit like asking tennis players to practice without partners.
In the school where I work, teachers observe that having bilingual students discuss lessons in both their languages helps their understanding, and stocking books in both languages boosts their library use. Even having them count off band warmups in both of their languages—teaching the number words to their peers—heightens engagement.
It takes effort to affirm bilingualism, but there’s payoff for the kids. For everyone.
We humans long to share all of who we are. It’s why we over-post about our obsessions on Facebook, and why I insisted on showing my husband the Benedict Cumberbatch Chewbacca impression (and Martin Freeman on Colbert, and the Hillywood Sherlock parody and assorted other fan picks). It’s also why my daughters want pals to listen when they explain a bilingual joke.
“Kimi wa ai sareru tame umareta” goes a children’s church song from Japan. “You were born to be loved.” My family listens to this song in the car, along with a US one that goes, “Take all of me.”
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