Language is how we communicate. In this country, it so happens to be English. So why is it that so few Latinos bother to learn English? I don’t get it. Or maybe I do. If you’re from China or Greece, you have to learn English, at least if you want to live in Denton, after all, this is not New York. Latinos living in Denton, however, have the company of lots of other Latinos and many get by with only Spanish. They just barely get by, and it’s nothing to write home about, but they manage. And it makes for interesting results, sometimes funny, sometimes sad, but never dull.
Take Germán, for example. He used to work for me. He’s been here twenty years and can’t speak two words of English, while his daughter who was born here and just turned 14, can’t speak two words of Spanish. Yet he managed to raise her and they somehow understand each other. A look, a grunt, gestures, body language and so forth, it’s all part of their arsenal and somehow, believe it or not, it works.
Here is the link: Denton Record Chronicle
Or if you prefer to read the article without fighting your way through the tons of ads that are peppered everywhere like land mines, here’s the PDF:
The real language barrier.
I’m often trying to educate my helpers, telling them what Odysseus might have done in a certain situation, what Socrates or Galileo might have said. This one morning I was listening to them talk about the latest drama in the telenovela they watch religiously every day, until I had had enough: somebody’s wife was running out to hang the laundry in some skimpy outfit and it had the husband upset, the neighbors goggle-eyed, the wives mad and all the neighborhood boys dizzy. That’s when I interrupted their conversation and told them that my father, somebody they both knew and respected, always told me and my brother that there were three things people talked about: other people, things, and ideas. To talk about ideas was the best.
“Things, what kind of things” one of them asked. “Pickups, tires, belt buckles, trophy wives in skimpy outfits, things,” I said. They heard me and fell into silence. Two hours later they were at it again, chattering away like cuckoo birds on coco puffs and one of them happily said they were talking about an idea. I was pleased and surprised. Could it be they had learned something? “What idea?” I asked.
“The idea of going to lunch,” they said, grinning to beat all. Ok, I asked for it and didn’t mind it. I took a deep breath, gave them twenty bucks and off they went. Twenty minutes later they were back and puzzled.
“What’s the matter?” I asked. “We ordered chicken and mashed potatoes and also got corn,” I was told. “Lots of corn. Why would they do that?” I asked them to repeat what they had ordered and had to shake my head. Fifty combined years in this county and these two goofballs can’t order lunch. Don’t get me wrong, they have worked for me for years, we are good friends, but something is wrong with the culture when people don’t learn the language of the country they live in.
Chinese learn English in record time, Nigerians learn English, and so do Germans. Why not Latinos?
I am presently helping another Mexican friend with his insurance claim for the water damage he suffered during the freeze a few months ago. He can’t speak or read English, and he’s been around since 1988.
I explained to my two helpers what they had done wrong. “You turkeys ordered chicken “con” mashed potatoes.” I said. “Con is a Spanish word that sounds like corn . . . what you got. The word to use is “with”. Chicken with mashed potatoes. No hotel in Europe will consider a concierge that can’t speak four or five languages,” I explained. “In some places four languages is barely enough. You guys are lucky you only need to learn one.”
Yes, there are exceptions. I know two Mexican doctors that speak great English. But I’m not talking white collar, I’m talking blue collar worker bees: the painter, the yard guy and their families. Why can’t they learn English in fifty years?” Damn. I was frustrated.
And native born Texans are no better. “How does it feel to speak another language?” I get asked that a lot. Some people, both gringos and Latinos, even add “but you don’t look Spanish,” somehow tethering a certain projected look to a particular language. Sometimes, the people I meet and hear me speak Spanish are surprised and sad. Then they tell me that their four years of high school Spanish were wasted, since they hadn’t kept up with it.
Yet, a person speaking only English in this country is not limited nearly as much as a foreigner not speaking the language and trying to make a go of it here. I also know of a Mexican kid that started at Denton High, is now a senior and can’t speak English. How is that possible? Do they think they are doing him a favor?
Google doesn’t help either, since one can ask Google in Spanish and get the weather in Denton.
But google doesn’t help you understand an insurance policy, explain your problem to a nurse, or talk to a cop, much less order chicken at a drive through.
Latinos have a need to speak English, but they sit at home watching soap operas instead. What gives? To hear them explain, you would think the English language is an insurmountable barrier, imagined perhaps, but a barrier all the same and higher than any border wall. The real wall, it turns out, was built by Telemundo and Univision and one that is ten times more impregnable than any material border wall. And I’ve never heard a Latino group admit the problem and make a concerted effort to educate their own. Que malo, and too bad. The corn, on the other hand, was pretty good.