The simple answer to why I find myself attending Spanish classes every Wednesday evening (with a supportive friend for motivation) is that Spanish was my first language from birth. While the class is not a basic language course—it’s focused on “Spanish Film and Conversation”—it still feels essential. “Qué pena!” I often hear fluent speakers chastising me. This isn’t merely a matter of laziness. As many of us from multicultural backgrounds understand, the decline of our linguistic abilities stems from a variety of influences, including the prevailing cultural attitudes and geographical changes.
Cultural Influences
In the 1970s and 1980s, speaking any language other than English was far from acceptable. I’m not referring to mere social awkwardness; I mean a level of danger that could lead to real consequences. My father often recounted how his immigrant father faced punishment in school for speaking anything but English. At that time, the Latino population was a mere fraction of the American demographic, which has since grown from about 9 million in the 1970s to nearly 60 million today, projected to double by 2060. Back then, assimilation was the goal for all immigrants. Today, however, being bilingual is celebrated, and embracing one’s heritage is increasingly seen as an asset in the global marketplace. Thank goodness for that transformation.
Geographical Impact
My bilingual journey took a downward turn when we relocated from the predominantly Hispanic neighborhood of upper Manhattan. There, Spanish was a regular part of our lives, surrounded by extended family. Had we stayed in the city, my brother and I would have naturally maintained our language skills. Instead, we moved to New Hampshire, where our four younger sisters were born. I often joke that our family was the first to integrate the state, but it honestly felt isolating. The most frequent question we encountered was “Do you speak Puerto Rican?” after the obligatory “So, do you speak Chinese?” It was bewildering to say the least.
While the state has evolved, there are still regions where speaking Spanish can lead to discomfort, as my mother discovered during our early days there. Additionally, I ended up at a French-Canadian school where all instruction was in French. During my first Spanish class recently, I struggled to recall the correct vocabulary, mistakenly saying “gateau” for cake instead of “pastel.”
My language skills began to improve when I spent time living in Santiago, Chile, and Mexico City in my early 20s. Upon returning to the U.S., I eagerly conversed with my mother in our native language. However, since her passing a decade ago, I’ve realized that my distancing from Spanish was not just due to external factors; it was deeply personal. Losing my mother meant losing the cultural connection we shared through language—the salsa dancing in the kitchen, listening to Julio Iglesias, and sharing family meals.
Today, my motivations for reclaiming my Spanish are practical, yet I believe my commitment is also tied to healing. My daughter is now learning Spanish in school and even enjoys dancing to my “Latin Beats” playlist.
This journey of rediscovery has been both challenging and rewarding, and I hope to inspire others to embrace their linguistic heritage.
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In summary, my experience illustrates that language is not just a tool for communication but a deep-seated connection to culture and identity. The journey to reconnect with my Spanish has become a path of healing and rediscovery, not just for myself but for my family as well.