Member-only story
Language Can Be Fascinating
and frustrating
I majored in languages because I was good at them. I learned to read on Sunday mornings, when I sat on my father’s lap, and he read the funnies to me. After a while, I started noticing patterns and recognizing small words.
According to family legend, I started talking at birth and never shut up because I was vaccinated with a phonograph needle. I was, indeed, speaking in complete sentences at a year old; my mother took me to the doctor for my year check-up, and when he put the stethoscope to my chest, I said, “Stop it, Doctor. That’s cold.” The doctor asked my mother if she was a ventriloquist, so I guess that was pretty unusual. Mom said he put me in his “unusual baby” book.
Notice the word “unusual” is neither positive or negative, just fact. I know my non-stop talking irritated many of my relatives. I have a grandson now who was quite a talker, and I understand now their irritation. Now he’s old enough for video games, so he’s much quieter. There were no video games to shut me up when I was young, more’s the pity for my family.
I decided I wanted to be a teacher one day on the way home from school when I was seven years old. I thought my choices back then were teacher or nurse, and I really enjoyed writing on blackboards.
I took French starting in ninth grade and added Spanish in eleventh. When teachers found out I wanted to be a teacher, they all said, “Not English. You’ll never get a job.” They encouraged me to concentrate on…