Future Fatherhood and Language(s)

“I’m just afraid it’ll turn out to be something horrible,” I said to my husband as I was making dinner, “you know… a kid who’s not interested in anything except video games, or who ends up being monolingual, or a drug dealer...”

Language matters. Context matters as well. And I should probably explain the surroundings of my little declaration.  

It helps to understand that “it” is the yet-to-be child we are in the first steps of adopting. The adoption process can be boiled down to a stunning number of forms, mountains of byzantine applications, and the constant nagging that you might just be certifiably nuts. It also implies sudden, sometimes contentious conversations with yourself and your better half. This one started off pleasantly, chatting about taking “it” to Sicily or Brussels on a sabbatical, and how, whether we want to or not, we are doomed to become The Parents With a Screaming Kid on the Plane. Then, out of the blue, we turned a discursive corner and stepped on the landmine of possible monolingualism.

Language matters.  Identity matters. They may be separate issues for most, but not for me.

Having grown up quite literally between and across several languages, I have never quite squared the circle of who I am as a linguistic being. I have a mother tongue (a heavily accented one at that), eine Vatersprache (also rather heavily accented, now that I think about it), une langue d’alphabétisation, and een straattaal. Like so many of my people, I am also decisively Italophile, the challenges of il passato remoto and geminate consonants be damned. What this means on a practical basis is that, depending on the task or interaction, one or another language – and often more than one – percolates to the surface of my mind and escapes my mouth. Complicated for those who must contend with me on a daily basis, I admit, but for me completely normal. Normal, and defining: I can no more imagine doing Math in English than I can spontaneously swear in German, cook in Dutch, or swim a sub-45” 100 meter fly.

Language matters. Values matter. I doggedly believe that there is value in language and languages, and language in value and values.

I’ve spent inordinate amounts of time lately thinking about my hypothetical fatherhood and about what I want to give “it,” the parts of me I want to see carried on. Obviously, there will be no common DNA: “it” might have different skin tone, might be short to my tall, muscular to my thin, blue eyed to my brown. But she or he (enough of “it” already – pronouns matter, too!) will inherit much more and much more valuable: from my husband, a sense of mirth, an appreciation for music, and sense of duty; from his family, a teasing nature and propensity to form wolf-like bonds; from mine, an appreciation for food and nature, and a strong dose of stoicism; and from me, brooding introspection and a life lived in two – and hopefully more – languages.

Language matters. Humanity matters. One of the most elemental components of humanity is our drive to communicate, to affect others and be affected by them, to understand and be understood.

Most of the time, I cannot fully grasp being a father: what it will be like to see a small, helpless bundle of flesh and blood grow into itself and its future. I hope to be challenged this regard, and have enough vicarious experience with nieces, nephews, and godsons to expect the unimaginable. However, one thing I cannot imagine is growing that bundle of flesh and blood into a monolingual creature. How terrible, how shallow and limited that would be, but not for any job or practicality. Yes, there are studies that attest to the advantage of bi- and multilingualism. Yes, some languages will open doors (others might actually close them, but we’re not supposed to mention that). And yes, it will be an uphill battle to bequeath some measure of non-mono-lingualism to the bambino/a living in a suffocatingly Anglophone, diversity-leveling world. Great arguments, all of these. But what it comes down to is that it would be “un-me.” Allowing my child to become in just one frame of language would be like not passing on some of the most important parts of me, and that which was passed on to me. And isn’t that one of the primary reasons we want children?

Language matters. It matters that we don’t all speak the same way or with the same tools, or even understand each other all the time – if ever. It matters that we are surrounded and immersed in different ways of being, varied structures of difference, and impossibly complex variations. It matters that we know, that we intuit that not everyone does any of what they do, from swearing to math, from poetry to seduction, like anyone or everyone else. “Fanculo,” I think, “‘ie wordt nie un monolingue mein Kind.” It matters too much.

About the Author: 

Dr. Eric Russell currently serves as Director of the DLC director and is faculty in French & Italian and the Linguistics Grad Group.

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