Sweet Nothings

I love language. In particular, I love the English language. It is rich, utilitarian, poetic, descriptive, flexible, and perhaps most important of all - easy for me. After all it is the language my mom used when she was trying to get me to shut up as a baby. As such, I am pretty good at speaking it and reasonably proficient at knowing when I can get away with ignoring it. But the greatest thing about English is that you can use it to say pretty much anything.

My sister has criticized me for being pedantic at times. You should know that the temptation to write this using unnecessarily flowery words is present. I will try to resist.

I have what, in my country, we call a pet peeve. I am easily annoyed when a person who does not have a huge command of English states something in their preferred language and then looks at me (the English speaker) and tells me, with a touch of sad contempt that, "No, no... There simply is no translation." One of my stock replies is, "Oh, I'm sure there is. Maybe you just don't know it." This doesn't make me hugely popular at parties full of international types. How do you say 'arrogant redneck' in Portuguese?

And yet I stand by the general assertion that you can say just about anything worth saying in English, if you know the right words. The language is big. It is immense, enormous, grand, huge, humongous, and large. Among the most beautiful aspects of this language is that if you say a foreign word enough times in sentences otherwise populated by English words, it will magically become English. English absorbs words and claims them as its own. Normans brought words like plague, boutique, and cuisinart to England in 1066. More recently we have acquired brilliant new words from our Mexican neighbors. Most kids in Texas eat salsa now, and they all have mocos in their noses.

None of this is meant to denigrate any of the multitude of other languages spoken around the world (and in the United States). I love other languages too. I am not so very good at them. Arabic is particularly difficult. With a little practice, I can make the sounds and try to pronounce the words. My students love to harangue me about my pronunciation of Arabic words, making me say them over and over until my shirt is covered in spittle and my tongue is exhausted from rattling around my palate. By the time they finally smile and tell me that I am saying 'it' correctly, I have forgotten the meaning of what I was trying to say. It just isn't sticking. This is further complicated by the fact that nearly everybody I meet here already speaks English reasonably well. I am learning, slowly.

Spanish was easier. Though many Mexicans speak English very well, there was an unspoken (actually, often spoken) understanding among my friends there that I should learn as much Spanish as possible - that my proficiency in Spanish was my ticket to gaining any sort of deeper connection with the culture. They were certainly inviting me in, but I would be relegated to the kids' table of conversation until I learned some decent Spanish. I am not fluent in Spanish, but I can be expressive. I had a strangely proud moment yesterday when I opened my trash can lid. Two stray cats jumped out and the first thing out of mouth, without even thinking was, "¡Pinches gatos!" Sure anyone from Texas can curse in Spanish. It is no great measure of fluency. It was the automaticity of the response that made me smile.

As I learn more about other languages, I find that my English is also growing. I try not to be too proud, to swallow my sarcasm so as not to offend. A couple of years ago I remember being at a wedding. A Spanish speaker was whispering 'cariñitos' to her baby. She loudly announced that she was telling her child, 'cariñitos' and declared that there was absolutely no way to say it in the base and unpoetic English language. I kind of hated her at that moment and mumbled something under my breath.
"What?" She said.
"Oh nothing." I replied.
Sweet nothings.....