Alright, let’s talk about this. The whole “parent chose not to teach me Spanish” thing. It’s a topic that’s been on my mind, off and on, for years, and I figured I’d share my journey with it, the whole messy process.
Figuring Out the “Why”
For a long time, I didn’t even clock it as a “choice” they made. It just was. I grew up, English was the language of the house, and that was that. My grandparents, they’d chatter away in Spanish, beautiful, fast, and full of life. My parents understood them, would reply in English, sometimes a bit of Spanish, but never, ever consistently to me or my siblings. I guess I just assumed that’s how it worked. Later on, I started piecing things together. I think, for them, it was about us fitting in, you know? The classic assimilation pressure. They wanted us to be “American,” and English was the key to that, or so the thinking went back then. No big announcement, just a silent decision that shaped a lot.
The Slow Burn of Realization
The impact wasn’t like a sudden lightning bolt. It was more like a slow realization, dawning on me in little moments. Family parties were a big one. The older aunts and uncles would be telling stories, laughing, really connecting, all in Spanish. And there I’d be, on the fringes, catching a word here or there, but mostly lost. It felt like being at a party where you don’t know the music. You can see people are having fun, but you can’t quite join in.
Then, as I got older, it started to feel like a missing piece of me. I’d meet other folks from similar backgrounds who were bilingual, and I’d feel this pang of… not jealousy, exactly, but a sense of loss. Like there was a whole dimension of my heritage I couldn’t access directly.
My Own Stumbling Path to Learning
So, eventually, I decided I had to do something about it. This is where my “practice” really began, and let me tell you, it’s been a rollercoaster. This wasn’t some smooth, easy ride.
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First, I jumped on the app bandwagon. You know the ones. Spent hours tapping little pictures, matching words. I got pretty good at saying “the boy eats bread” or “the woman drinks water.” Super useful for daily survival, right? Not so much.
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Then I thought, okay, structure. I need structure. So, I signed up for a community college evening class. Bless the teacher, she tried. But it was very grammar-focused, very textbook. My brain just isn’t wired for that kind of learning anymore. It felt like trying to force a square peg into a round hole. I’d leave class with my head buzzing, but not much sticking.
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I even tried the “just immerse yourself” route. Watched telenovelas with subtitles. Listened to music. It helped with comprehension, a bit. But speaking? That’s a whole other beast. You can’t learn to swim by just watching other people swim.
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The hardest part, honestly, has been the self-consciousness. Trying to speak, fumbling for words, knowing I sound like a kid. It’s tough to push through that fear of sounding dumb. Especially when you wish it just came naturally.
Where I Am Now and What I’ve Figured Out
So, after all this effort, am I fluent? Nope. Not even close. Can I hold a deep philosophical conversation in Spanish? Definitely not. But I can understand a lot more. I can pick up phrases, get the gist of conversations, and even string together a few sentences myself, however awkwardly.
Looking back at my parents’ decision, I get it more now. I really do. They were doing what they thought was best, navigating a different world with different pressures. There’s no anger there anymore, just a sort of understanding. They made their choice, and now I’m making mine.
This journey to learn Spanish, on my own terms, has been frustrating at times, sure. But it’s also been incredibly rewarding in small ways. Every new word I learn, every conversation I can follow a little better, feels like a small victory. It’s like I’m slowly reclaiming a part of myself. It’s my process, my pace, and that’s okay. It’s not just about the language; it’s about connection – to my family, to my heritage, and honestly, to a part of myself I didn’t know was waiting.
