For a monolingual person, I have an inordinate love of languages. Not only is multi-lingualism increasingly important in today's world, but it does wonderful things for the brain—from increased brain growth in babies to decreased dementia in the elderly. I wish the great resources available for teaching young children another language had been around when our kids were little, and I wish I had more aggressively pursued what there was. Be that as it may, I am only a language dilettante, enjoying learning a few phrases of Japanese before our trip there, brushing up on my minimal high school French, and listening to the language CDs from the Hippo Family Clubs. I wish I were multi-lingual, but face the reality that at my age it just isn't going to happen.
Nonetheless, I should be able to learn, if I put the time and effort into it, enough of a language to get along reasonably well with basic, necessary communication. Which brings me to the question of why I find myself attracted to almost any language other than the two that would be of the most immediate practical use to learn: Spanish and German.The source of my prejudice against Spanish was not hard to discern: I don't react well to threats and pressure, and the increasing dominance of Spanish in Florida makes me feel about that language the way many Québécois feel about English. Unreasonable prejudice, I know, but at least I understand its origins.
German is another matter. Anticipating many future trips to Switzerland, not to mention German-speaking grandchildren, learning German should be a high priority. And it will, when I can talk myself past the mental block. But why the reluctance? Why does the German language sound ugly and angry to me? Sophie Scholl helped me untangle this puzzle: My association with German and Germany is too much influenced by World War II.
Not that I ever experienced WWII myself, nor did my parents express any particular anti-German sentiment. But when I was growing up, the memory was yet green in American culture, and Germans were not presented positively in the books we read, the movies we saw, the television shows we watched, and even the games we played. The bad guys barked "Heil Hitler!" and "Seig heil!" and "Ya voll!" and spewed angry-sounding, though incomprehensible, strings of harsh consonants. For some reason, perhaps because I grew up on the East Coast rather than the West, Japanese was spared this treatment.
I'm sure that German words out of the mouth of a young grandchild will sound perfectly lovely.
And fortunately for me, Schwyzerdütsch k'valt mir goed. (Real Swiss German speakers please forgive my attempt at spelling what I hear.)
Having worked my way (the first time) through the Pimsleur Swiss German lessons (unfortunately there are only 10 of them), I can now say hello, goodbye, please, and thank you, ask you to repeat what you just said, tell you my name, and ask how to get to Bahnhofstrasse or Marktgasse. I can also order a restaurant meal—though only if it's Gschnätzlets mit rösti—and a drink, if I'm willing to have coffee, beer, wine, or mineral water, which means I'd get pretty thirsty if it weren't for those great Swiss public drinking fountains. I can make a date with you; that is, if you're willing to come at 9:30, 10:00, 1:30, or 2:00.
Schwyzerdütsch ish schön! Especially if spoken by someone you love.Hey, I prefer Schwyzerdütsch over German, too!
I love your summary of what you learned. Especially making a date. We'll have to teach you all the numbers, and then you'll be set.
The difference 12 years can make! I don't remember playing games with the Germans as the bad guys.
I guess I'd better work on German too. 3 out of 4 in this household are taking/took German.
I've often noted that there is a significant generation gap between my siblings and me; even seven years makes a big difference. Not that it keeps us from being a closely-knit and loving family, but it's noticeable. Although for a number of reasons my upbringing was somewhat different from theirs, that's not what I'm talking about, but rather changes in the surrounding culture and "conventional wisdom" between my formative years and theirs. Perhaps change always happens this way, and I only noticed it because there is that half-generation gap between us. It does serve as an interesting bridge between our generation and that of our children. It was a bit of a shock when I realized that certain customs—notably in the ares of weddings and childbirth—that our children thought of as "the way it's done" were those of my siblings' era, and quite different from my own views of "normal."
Excerpt: I've often noted that there is a significant generation gap between my siblings and me; even seven years makes a big difference. Not that it keeps us from being a closely-knit and loving family, but it's noticeable. Although for a num...
Weblog: Lift Up Your Hearts!
Date: August 1, 2008, 9:11 am
