People would ask me what country I was from and I would look mysterious and bat my big, Asian-looking eyes (my father appeared to have Chinese Mongolian blood from his Russian-Polish immigrant background.)
So, it seems that my first language exposures, after English, were Lakota, Dine' and the San Diego influences and, with the latter, even though I didn't speak the languages, I effected an imitation of them. Later, I learned Spanish and later met my present husband, who is a retired chemical engineer/rocket scientist. He was brought here from Mexico by the government when the US was sorely lacking in scientists (it appears that history repeats its self.) He first lived in Virginia when he arrived and his English has some interesting quirks to the ear of a Westerner. I have always loved his intellectualism and love of literature and the arts.
Earlier in my adulthood, I lived in the Yucatan Peninsula in Mexico, near what is now Can Cun, in a small, Mayan Indian fishing village with my blond children. In spite of Mel Gibson's spin, these were the gentlest, friendliest, most humorous people on earth and with the largest head circumference to match. They primarily spoke Spanish and their native language was mixed in. I don't know the Spanish word for red snapper, because I learned, for example, watchinango.
Then, they were still an isolated people. The Pan-American Highway had only been open for 20 years and there weren't many travelers there. In fact, there was not a real stove (according to our experiences), nor a telephone in the pueblo. Today there is one telephone. They didn't know about the horribly embarrassing Ugly American yet and they couldn't keep their fingers off of my little girl's sparkly blond hair. She hated that!
I loved the Mayan culture - and their friendliness, once my daughter and I began dressing in the native dress. They used words and stories to shape what they wanted from their children. They, I believe, never raised their voices; and they certainly did not hit anyone. One night my little girl was whiney and hungry and snapped back at me. A serious Mayan mother said that she knew a girl once who talked back to her mother. Then, something happened. The girl's tongue flew out, split, curled up and caught on fire. I was in a panic; hoping that my daughter didn't understand the Spanish that would traumatize her; yet, I exposed her to our fairy tales.
After I converted to Judaism (my mother was not Jewish) and traveled to Israel (Asian continent), my dreams were to become an Israeli citizen, live on the Mediterranean in Israel, and go scuba diving in Eilat, which is next to Egypt (African continent). That did happen a few decades later - recently - and I found out a couple of new things about literacy and language.
First, I remembered none of my Hebrew and, no, they don't “all speak English.” Secondly, I had gotten very used to the idea that my intellect, ability to find work and my occupation would take me anyplace. I was an MSW psychotherapist (now retired), especially equipped in trauma treatment using Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR), rated by the Ministry of Health as the premier therapy of choice for post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) - and there's a lot of that in war-torn countries.
I hadn't a clue that being fluent in Hebrew was honestly a necessity and that a large recession meant no clients. I had been a therapist for many Spanish-speaking persons in Las Vegas and we mostly spoke Spanish together. Duh. That does give one pause when considering what types of intellect work for certain circumstances - or how it can be selective, depending upon what one wants.
I am in the states now - we decided to come back to Utah where we had lived and knew people - and, although content, and strongly an American with dual citizenship, I yearn for my cultural-religious homeland. Perhaps obtaining a TESL certificate and strengthening my Hebrew will get me there again some day. So, I continue to be in-school literate, language seeking and thrilled I have good reason to be! Shalom
