LINES IN THE SAND, by guest blogger Francie Gow

I recently spent a ten-day vacation with Susan’s family in Maine. It was my first time seeing the Sius since 2009, so it was a welcome chance to catch up and spend quality time together. Spending all that time with three children under the age of five was a fantastic opportunity for me to prepare for the arrival of my own first child later this summer.

Naturally, I had been tracking the younger Sius’ progress in French since I last saw them, occasionally mailing a short note in French to Sebastian to add a little encouragement. Before arriving, Susan and I discussed the possibility of my speaking with them exclusively in French during my visit. I was curious as to how that might go down, especially given that Sebastian already knew from previous visits that my native language was English, and that I would no doubt be speaking English to their father in front of them.

We did not get off to the start I had envisioned. When I pulled into the Sius’ driveway, Sebastian and Serena were hanging out their upstairs bedroom window. They were the first to speak, in English, describing the antics of a cat that had just left their garden. My kneejerk reaction was to respond in English.

I tried to salvage the situation when I walked into the house, asking Sebastian in French how he was. He wasted no time in drawing a line in the sand: “I don’t understand French—only English!” Susan assured me that his comprehension was excellent, but that he had lately been more resistant to communicating in that language, possibly because many of his classmates did not speak French and he did not think it cool to be different.

He seemed pretty stubborn, so I didn’t insist, but soon I came to understand that his line in the sand was not quite as firm as I had initially believed.

Anyone who reads Susan’s posts knows that her house is overflowing with wonderful children’s books. I adore reading to children and rarely get to do so, so every time one of the three walked or toddled over to the couch with a book—and this happened many times a day—I obliged without hesitation. To my great surprise, but not Susan’s, about half of the selections that Sebastian brought over to the couch were in French, and he wanted to hear them again and again!

I gradually began to get a sense of Sebastian’s true level of understanding, which made me hesitate less and less about addressing him in French for short spans throughout the day. He sometimes pulled his trick of faking incomprehension (generally showing he had understood perfectly), and sometimes indicated that he understood but preferred to respond in English. Sometimes my efforts were even rewarded with a bit of French production.

One day he brought me a French chapter book. Susan said she was surprised, as the book was clearly too advanced for him and he had not spontaneously chosen it before, but suggested that I go ahead. Worried that not knowing what was going on would make him lose interest, I would add the occasional gloss in English. I later learned from Susan that she generally didn’t bother to do that, even if they did not understand everything. This made perfect sense to me at one level, as it matched the philosophy of our shared French immersion schooling background. However, I was finding it surprisingly hard to implement in practice.

Then a new experience changed that for me. On and off, I have been teaching myself basic Spanish. Susan’s Spanish is more advanced than mine, and among her children’s books are several selections in that language. She loaned me an illustrated story collection that she herself had been using to practise, so that I could keep up my own learning.

One day while I was reading it to myself, Serena crawled up on my lap and asked to hear it. I obliged. The nice thing about Spanish pronunciation is that once you figure out the basics, you can read anything out loud accurately, whether you yourself understand it or not. There were plenty of verbs and nouns with which I was not familiar, but the context and the illustrations helped me piece together enough of the story to keep it interesting.

Suddenly I was hearing the story in Spanish much as Sebastian might have been hearing that other story in French. It really clicked that full comprehension was not necessary for a good listening experience. Serena must have been following even less than I was, yet she seemed to take equal pleasure from the flow of the words. In fact, the experience may even have been heightened; because I was not sure exactly what I was saying all the time, I compensated by putting more expression than usual into my reading, making the flow almost musical. As a bonus, we were both learning bits and pieces of the language along the way.

Although I drove to Maine hoping the children might learn from me, I drove back to Montreal ten days later understanding that I had learned from them. (I hear parenting is often like that.) My own son-to-be will pick up French and English easily, as his father will speak to him in the former and I in the latter, but this experience has given me hope that I will be able to pass on some of my limited Dutch as well, despite the Dutch family being far away. Even if he pretends to resist from time to time, now I know for sure he’ll be listening… 

LANGUAGE LEARNING IS NEVER WASTED, by guest blogger Francie Gow

When I was 22, I spent a year teaching English conversation classes in the French town of Armentières, nestled on the Belgian border. I had specifically asked to be sent to that region so that I could be as close as possible to my Dutch relatives.

Although I had not moved to France with the specific intention of learning Dutch, the circumstances turned out to be ideal. I only had to spend 12 hours a week in the classroom, leaving me with lots of spare time to study and listen to my new Teach Yourself Dutch tape. The lycée where I taught happened to offer Dutch as a language option, so I introduced myself to the teacher (a native speaker) and obtained permission to sit in on her beginner, intermediate and advanced classes. My frequent visits to my relatives provided natural contexts in which to practice and plenty of motivation.

By the end of that year, I could communicate effectively, if not fluently, with my few Dutch relatives who could not speak English (the very oldest and the very youngest). The biggest rewards came from finally getting to know my Oma better and being able to go out and run errands with her without necessarily needing my Opa around to translate. Naturally, she was as thrilled as I was with this development.

Of course, once I was back in Canada, I stopped using my Dutch. A year later, Opa and Oma flew in for a visit, and I went to meet them at the airport. When Oma began to tell me about their trip, I was horrified to discover that I had no idea what she was saying. I simply couldn’t follow her anymore. She, too, looked crestfallen, and I wondered whether all my efforts had been futile.

I needn’t have worried. When I returned to the country a few years later, it took only two or three days of real immersion to “unlock” most of what I had absorbed of the language. It had simply gone dormant in the interim. What a relief!

I once stumbled on a blog post by Tim Ferriss called “Reactivating Forgotten Languages: How to Catch Up.” His premise is that it is not necessary to “keep up” with languages that you use only occasionally; you can always “catch up” by giving yourself a shot of exposure just before you need it. This certainly reflects my experience.

I now know that most of my Dutch will come back on
its own a few days into a trip to the Netherlands.
However, sometimes it’s nice—or even necessary,
depending on whom I see when—to hit the ground
running.  Partly inspired by Ferriss and partly by Susan,
I have picked up the habit of buying a new
Harry Potter book in Dutch translation every time I visit
(generally once every two to four years). I don’t read it
right away; instead I wait for the month before my next
trip is scheduled. I already know the story, so I don’t
struggle with the narrative, and the process of reading
“wakes up” all those useful verbs and prepositions,
allowing me to start stringing sentences together upon
arrival. I still improve over the first few days, but I
get to skip that feeling of paralysis. I have twice put
this technique into practice successfully, and Harry Potter en de Gevangene van Azkaban is now sitting patiently on my shelf, waiting for me to book my next ticket...

ACCENT ON DUTCH, by guest blogger Francie Gow

My Dutch accent has progressed in fits and starts rather than gradually. The musical training surely helped here too, as did the early exposure to the sounds from hearing my mother speak with Dutch-speaking friends and relatives. However, there were a few sounds particular to Dutch that I could recognize but had trouble imitating for a long time, as I was not forced to try very often.

The first difficult sound I remember conquering was the rolled “r”. When I was eight years old, I spent a week or two with my great-aunt and great-uncle on the family farm in Netterden. Their four sons had learned English in school, so I generally communicated in English through them. They had a lovely dog named Bonnie who could do entertaining tricks, like rolling over or jumping up to push the door closed. I was eager to give her these commands myself, but she simply ignored me when I encouraged her to “rollen” with my wimpy English “r”. I practised and practised making motor noises with my tongue. A few days later, I knew I had finally succeeded when she heard me say “rrrrrrollen” and promptly did a little flip. I could not possibly have found a more exacting—or motivating—teacher.

When I finally decided in my early twenties to learn to speak Dutch, I set about conquering the last of the challenging sounds with the help of taped language lessons and by asking for help from my relatives every time I went to visit. While my Dutch accent today is not nearly as good as my French accent, the head start that I had acquired in childhood helps me sound much more advanced than the relative beginner I really am.

Basically, I can pass for a native speaker, or at least a proficient one, for the first thirty seconds of any conversation. The disadvantage is that whenever I ask for something in a store, I get a long, detailed answer in rapid-fire Dutch. I quickly learned the phrase, “Langzamer, alstublieft!” (More slowly, please!), and I use it constantly.

The advantage is that native speakers are less likely to switch into English to “help” me, thus giving me more opportunities to practise and improve. On a recent trip to The Hague, my partner and I wanted to reserve a guided tour at the Peace Palace. I dialled the number in the guidebook and began the conversation with “Goeden dag. Spreekt u Engels?” (Good day. Do you speak English?) The man at the other end answered, in Dutch, “Yes, of course I do, but I don’t think I will; your Dutch is much too good!” Totally caught off guard, I stammered my way clumsily through the rest of the conversation. However, it did the job, and he congratulated me warmly before hanging up.

Don’t despair if your child’s early exposure to a language is inconsistent at best; it may still facilitate future efforts!

ACCENT ON FRENCH, by guest blogger Francie Gow

I may not be able to fool everybody all the time, but my French accent is finally good enough to allow me to blend in with the Francophones around me. Actually, it would be more accurate to say my French accents, as I find myself adjusting to the environment depending on whether I am in Quebec or in France.

I don’t think I was born with a particular talent for accents; I simply had and found the right opportunities. When I was four years old, my parents signed me up for violin lessons, and my musical education continued through my early university years. I also taught some violin in my late teens and early twenties. The sense of pitch I developed while tuning all those tiny violins before each beginner fiddle class has helped me hear and imitate the nuances of spoken French. I have no doubt that Susan’s background in piano has contributed to her own ease in distinguishing the sounds of new languages.

I was also fortunate to have been taught in my early years by several native French speakers, mostly from Quebec, as well as by Anglophones who had previously spent a significant amount of time in French environments. When I later taught English conversation courses in France, I could hardly blame the students for speaking English with such thick French accents; most of their teachers did too!

After high school, I spent summers in French-language programs in Quebec, studied French at Memorial University (one of my most helpful courses there was in French phonetics—I highly recommend glancing through the guide to phonetic symbols that appears in the front of any good dictionary), lived and worked in France for a year, studied translation and worked as a French-to-English translator in Ottawa, and then studied law in a bilingual program in Montreal. As I mentioned in my first post, I also fell for a handsome Francophone while in Ottawa and am now fully integrated into his French-speaking family.

In other words, with some help from those early advantages I mentioned, I have developed my accent through a slow and steady evolution, and through thousands of hours of listening and speaking. My only regret is that I have no memory of how I sounded at various stages of my French-language development. I wish I had recordings of myself speaking French in primary school, at the end of high school, after my French degree, and again just after my return from France. If your child is learning a language that he or she does not already speak natively, you may want to squirrel away some samples now to play back at a later date.

A TALE OF TWO KINDERGARTENS, by guest blogger Francie Gow

About a month after I began French-immersion Kindergarten, my Dutch grandmother died, and my mother brought me and my sister Emily to the Netherlands to spend two months with Opa. While we were there, the grownups decided to send me for part of that time (two or three weeks, perhaps) to the local school. The teacher graciously accepted me as a guest in her classroom and asked the other students to make me feel welcome. 

I have no memory whatsoever of my first month in the French Kindergarten. I presume that we were all taught the phrase “Puis-je aller aux toilettes?” (May I go to the bathroom?) on day one. We were all Anglophones, so although the teacher never used any English with us, I know that she would have used very simple sentences, lots of repetition, and plenty of contextual clues to help us along.

I do, however, have a vivid first-person recollection of parts of my Dutch experience, perhaps because it was so overwhelming. I remember an enormous sense of frustration at not understanding what was going on around me. The adults spoke to me in English and to each other in Dutch. The teacher spoke to the class as a whole in a Dutch that I could not hope to follow, as of course she was aiming it at native speakers, and then she would give me a brief explanation in English so that I could join in the activity. My classmates spoke to each other in Dutch, and to me in slower Dutch accompanied by gestures.

Had I stayed longer, I would have eventually cracked the code and become quite fluent, progressing much faster than I later did in French. I did acquire a large stock of vocabulary words over those two months, mostly related to food, a topic that came up several times a day. However, with the exception of “Ik ben Francie” (I am Francie), which was printed on one of my t-shirts, I never learned to produce a single sentence.

Because the adults were continuing to speak to me in English, no doubt at my insistence and because it was easier, I had no way to pick up verbs, an essential building block for meaningful communication. Therefore, even as my vocabulary grew, I never felt any closer to being able to speak when the time came to return home.

Of course, we all knew that the trip was temporary, so while the grownups no doubt hoped that I would benefit from the exposure to an extent, learning the language was not the primary purpose of my time there. It may have been different if we knew that I would be staying. I imagine that simple story books, read to me repeatedly by patient adults, would have granted me the entry into sentences that I so badly needed to be able to burst through the wall of incomprehension. A strong desire to make friends with my non-English-speaking classmates would have pushed me from there.

While I don’t remember my first days of Kindergarten, I do remember the first days of my return to the French-language classroom in December. In theory, French should have been even less comprehensible to me than Dutch, as there had been no previous exposure to French in my home. However, my only memories of the rest of Kindergarten relate to my classmates and the things we did. I remember learning that I could use the black crayon to make grey by pressing lightly instead of hard. I remember tossing beanbags through holes in a wooden board with a clown painted on it. I remember counting to one hundred. I remember building structures with blocks and pasting macaroni to construction paper. I remember singing songs. I do not remember the fact that I was doing all of this in French.

I recently asked my mother what she remembered from my Kindergarten experience. She told me that a friend of hers had once asked me whether I had learned any French at school that day and was surprised when I replied, “No.” But wasn’t I in French immersion? I looked at her as though she had just said something nonsensical. “We don’t learn French at school,” I explained, “we just speak it.”   

BUNNIES, BROOMS, AND DUTCH VOCABULARY, by guest blogger Francie Gow

I have memories from before starting school of a few Dutch-language books around the house. There were Tintin comic books in Dutch translation, but I could never do much with those beyond looking at the pictures. (I should ask my parents whether we still have them, as I might be just at the right stage for them now!) The simple vocabulary and picture books were more useful.

My sharpest memory is of a Dutch translation of Richard Scarry's The Best Word Book Ever, with its household and community scenes inhabited by cute little human-like animals and labelled in great detail. I had the original English copy as well, so I could compare if I wanted to, but it wasn’t really necessary. I would spend lots of time poring over the pictures, and some of the vocabulary just stuck.

I remember visiting the family farm in the Netherlands when I was eight years old and “playing house” with the neighbour’s daughter, who was the same age. Despite the language barrier, we were able to build an open floor plan out of bales of hay, and we did lots of gesturing to make ourselves understood. I wanted a broom to sweep up the bits of hay, and I was proud as punch when I suddenly remembered the word “bezem” from the Richard Scarry book, and she understood me right away. Using a word successfully in context was an encouraging thrill.  If Scarry’s books were translated into Dutch, I have no doubt they were translated into several other languages as well, so these may be worth hunting down in children’s bookstores on your travels. 

Not all of my books were translations. I still love the bold, colourful illustrations of Dick Bruna, whose iconic Nijntje Konijntje (“Miffy the Rabbit” in English) character is recognizable far beyond the artist’s native Netherlands. I have only just now discovered these adorable interactive Miffy websites, which of course were not available to complement the books when I was growing up. There is even a version in Japanese. Like the Scarry books, I’m certain that the books themselves are available in many more than just these three languages. They may be even easier to find: Bruna began publishing children’s books in 1953, but, unlike Scarry, he still seems to be at it today!

Guest Blogger Francie Gow to Write a Series of Posts for LinguistKids

I am happy to announce that my childhood friend Francie Gow will be writing a series of posts for LinguistKids this summer.  Francie went through the French immersion program in Newfoundland and now works as a legal translator in Canada.  She is a brilliant and multi-talented linguist and writer who has travelled widely and used her language skills in a variety of personal and professional contexts.  I am honored to have Francie share her insights on the LinguistKids blog!