Regrets
I married a man from Egypt when I was 18 years old, and moved there a short time after that. While I never really learned to read Arabic, I learned enough to make some friends and get around on my own. My oldest daughter was born there, and most of her first words were Arabic.
We moved back to the states when my daughter was about 16 months old, and her little brain very quickly figured I was the only one who understood what she was saying. Maybe she thought she was doing something wrong, or maybe she thought she was surrounded by imbeciles, but she quit talking to anybody but me.
She was mostly silent at day care, and she was mostly silent with my family. But, few months later, we moved to live with my grandparents in another state. One evening, my grandmother and I were in the living room watching television and the baby was in the kitchen with my uncle. All of a sudden, she ran into the living room, and tugged on my grandmotherâs sleeve.
âAmma!â, she said.
My grandmother looked up with surprise. âYes, baby?â
â(her name here) drank Unca Perryâs apple juice all gone!â
And with that, she was off. Sheâd figured out English and was immediatly speaking in complete sentences.
Tiramasuâs piece on languages sparked this memory, but even more so, it sparked regret. For the first few years of my marriage, my husband and I lived in Egypt, and spoke a mixture of Arabic and English - but mostly Arabic. And, when we moved back to the US, the balance shifted even more to mostly Arabic at home. However, my Arabic was pretty limited to discussing domestic things. So, when we argued, I was at a definite disadvantage.
At some point, I rebelled and stopped speaking Arabic. The funny thing is, my husband also stopped speaking it at home. He never really taught the kids to speak it. And, although he was a devout Muslim, he didnât give them any religious instruction. Even after we divorced and he had partial custody, he didnât speak Arabic with the kids in his home.
I can still understand enough Arabic to get a general idea of whatâs going on if I hear it being spoken. But, the kids (who are now grown adults) donât speak or understand any. Dropping Arabic in the home was definitely the right decision for me. I had to reclaim some of my own power and identity. But, I do regret the kids not learning their fatherâs culture and language.