Muchacha Pelo Largo No Shoes

As I walked into the park on Sunday afternoon ("Sand Park" also known as "Shiatsu" in our family's park code), I overheard a woman on her mobile ask, "Y Milady?" and knew she was Cuban. Thus began my sociological observation of her (as is my wont).

We got to talking. Obvisouly her husband was Italian. They lived in nearby Small Town Nothing and came to the park for the sandpit. Their son was Gabriel and the little one was Greta. She was with her husband, her mother, her tiny daughter and her son. Her son was gorgeous, 4 years old with beautiful grey eyes and, we later learned, he also shared the same birthday as Elias only he was one year older.

Now here's the thing and the point of this post. She spoke Italian to her kids. Gabriel didn't speak Spanish. He understood it OK because his grandmother spoke it to him but he couldn't say anything in Spanish.

Now as I grow older and wiser, I do not like to criticize how people bring up their kids. As long as the child is happy and healthy, you're doing your job. But I do remain perplexed as to why people do not speak their native language to their children. My father didn't. I was born over 20 years after he had left his country and after which he had practically stopped speaking Norwegian except for on the phone to his sister every so often. He thought there was no point speaking a little-known language to his 3rd child in his second marriage, especially if his wife, my mother, didn't understand it. When I was old enough to know better, I disagreed with him and in retrospect he admitted he may have done things differently given the chance but by then it was, of course, too late.

So back to the family of the other day, here was this kid who spoke no Spanish but who had a Cuban mother. She and her husband regretted this, but thought it was too late to change now. I suggested what we do in terms of books and DVDs which they thought was an interesting idea - all books, DVDs and YouTube viewings are in English or Spanish in this house. She did look a bit longingly at Elias and René interacting in pure, unadulterated Cuban Spanish though which was a bit sad I thought.

As we went home and the more I thought about it over the next few days, the more I realised we have a good thing going in our family. I am so pleased that René and I didn't even have to talk about this - it was a given that he would speak only Spanish and I would speak only English to the kids. At one point he expressed doubt about the "purity" or "correctness" of Cuban Spanish but when someone can show me the correct form of any language, I will then believe that they exist so we got over that one pretty quickly.

I can only hope and pray that our kids continue to grow up with at least two if not three or more languages in their daily life. I love the fact that Elias' uses the word 'fula' for anything bad, boring or irritating, that he speaks English with an already distinctly North American accent ('dirty' or 'can't') and uses North American words like 'cookie'.

Until Xavi speaks more, Elias' is the one coming up with wonderful linguistic inventions but I am sure his little brother will follow suit very soon. The best so far? Elias' name for Rapunzel: Muchacha Pelo Largo No Shoes. Look at the poster, it is 100% fitting.