I had a funny little experience this week that made me think anew about language—our chosen words, the amazing miracle of how we learn vocabulary starting in our toddler years, and the ways that words can shape our experiences.
This week at work, we had a guest named Jan…(pronounced “yawn”). A lively, amiable man, he’s doing lots of work with the WHO on helping international public health efforts and processes. Though he spoke with an accent, I couldn’t place it. Then he mentioned to me during a coffee break that he’s from Belgium, the Flemish section. In the blink of an eye, I was transported back to my experience (back in high school 100 years ago) when I was a foreign exchange student, assigned to live in the Flemish portion of Belgium with a host family. I knew zero (count ‘em….zero…) words in that language and was pretty daunted. I attended a ‘crash course’ in the language for two days in Brussels, then headed out to the village where I’d be living.
Have you had the experience of being surrounded by those speaking a mysterious language that’s not your own?? ((Literally…or figuratively?)) It can be quite a shut-down time. Not only is it baffling to try to understand what they’re saying….but you hesitate to speak up, for fear of showing your funny accent or your humble grammar and pronunciation. Or maybe even lack of knowledge on a subject.
I spent weeks in Belgium being pretty quiet, listening all day and all night. (Me! a full-blown Extravert!) Luckily, the small children in my host family had great fun teaching the language to me—they’d bring over an object, say the Flemish word and ask to learn the English word. Bit by bit, word by word, phrase by phrase…I started to hear myself hesitatingly speak Flemish. I was reminded this week of the whoosh! of wind and bravery on the day that I finally mustered up the courage at the family supper to actually join in the conversation and speak Flemish with them. After ‘stuffing’ my communication habits (because of feeling intimidated, language-wise) for so long…it felt so good to finally find my voice. Haltingly but optimistically, I began speaking. Heaven knows my grammar and sentence structure were more wobbly than my 7 year old host sister, but the starting—the very first burst of words—was like the dam broke!
I had that feeling again this week, when kind Jan asked me to speak any Flemish I remember. Again, see above, it’s been 100 years. I paused. And I felt stymied. Intimidated by speaking a language that’s so ‘foreign’ to me. Then I spoke a couple sentences. Ok, very quietly…. (he actually said, “Come again?”)….but I spoke them. His kind smile let me know he recognized what I was probably trying to say. Then he said, “You know, you have such an Irish brogue…and a very soft-toned enunciation. Remember how guttural Flemish can be?” He spoke several more sentences with words I recognized. It felt a little bit like ‘coming home’ to the Belgian experience for a few moments.
But that very vivid exchange has got me thinking now about language. About the amazing miracle it is that we (as short cute toddlers) start to hear and learn and mimic and employ words. We start to express the good or the bad news…befuddled at first, but eventually brave. I’m inviting each of us to pay attention to the marvelous uses of spoken language around us – Use your words. Speak your piece. Find your voice. Speak your truth.
Claudia Brogan is a lifelong trainer and educator, having worked and taught
at universities in student leadership, psychology, student advising, and
counseling. Lately, she's foraying into doing training in the public health arena, which is a very different world indeed, a risk in itself! She'll try anything once, if it sounds fun, and so she’s joining this circle of resourceful, colorful, gutsy women – what the hell?! Claudia can be reached on Facebook.
Email this author | All posts by Claudia Brogan
One of the most amazing experiences I’ve had was spending a few days with a French family — where we Americans spoke little-to-no French, and our hosts spoke no English.
The first day, we had a translator, so we got a little connected. But the next two days we were on our own! And it was so fun — they taught us a card game, which we all played with such competitive fervor. I never knew when it was my turn and the lady of the household would smack my hand saying something in French that I believed to be “Go! It’s your turn!” LOL.
And she had a huge belly laugh when I attempted to compliment her marinara sauce. I thought I was saying, in French, “I loved the marinara.” But instead, I apparently said, “I love you, marinara.”
We also had a difficult, but lively discussion of the television show, ER, which they called “d’urgence!” We understood that they were in love with the character, Luca, and that the US was several months ahead of them in episodes. They begged us to tell them is fate… and somehow, we acted it out. LOL.
Somehow, without common lanuguage, we all bonded and became friends. I think the fact that we all showed a lot of courage to be “real” with each other. For some reason, being polite kept things dull… when we really connected was when the teasing began.
And the punchline to the whole story is: On the last evening, at dinner, the lady of the household began speaking PERFECT English. We were astonished!!! She had been holding back. She had studied it in school, but was too embarrassed to try and speak it in front of us. And then she realized how silly it all was and we all laughed to the point of tears. It was a wonderful experience, for sure.
Thanks for bringing back that memory… and your point is not lost on me that we can sometimes allow our language (whether a foreign language, an accent or dialect, or even regional speech differences) to hold us silent… we want to fit in… and yet, when we just allow our communication to flow (however badly), we can make that connection we yearn for.
“speak your piece” now there’s an image that gives voice (literally) and in finding our voice, we can work beyond ourselves. in your sitting quietly on the sidelines, you were anything but passive. you were collecting and connecting and making your way.
and your words have been building bridges ever since.
with thanks,
(one of) your sibling(s)
hey, I love this Claud,
truly historic in the not speaking thing. What an amazing story. I like how the little ones helped you put together some ideas/ Thanks for sharing.
your other one.