Why You Need a Foreign Language & How to Learn One
Chapter 9 (Excerpt)
The Reluctant Language Learner
Studying Spanish in Cincinnati
I was first exposed to foreign language study as a high school student in the 1980s. In retrospect, I must admit that at the time I really didn't see the point. My hometown of Cincinnati, Ohio had a negligible immigrant population. There was no Chinatown or Little Havana. The two major non-English-speaking immigrant groups in the Cincinnati area--the Germans and the Italians--had arrived in the 19th century, and had long since assimilated into the general population. German language schools had once thrived in Cincinnati, but these fell out of favor amid the anti-German sentiments of World War I. The German schools were closed during the war, and never reopened.
As a teenager, my world was completely monolingual. About half of the kids at the school I attended had either German or Italian last names—but no one in their families had actually spoken these languages for generations. There was a minor trend for kids with German last names who had a strong sense of heritage to fulfill their high school language requirement with two years of German. My peers with Italian last names did not have this option; only French, German, and Spanish were offered at my high school.
At this stage in my life, I had barely been out of Ohio; any chances for foreign travel were still light years in the future. I took First Year Spanish and received reasonably good grades. However, I considered Spanish to be a purely academic pursuit—somewhat similar to solving quadratic equations or learning to identify iambic pentameters.
The following year, I met someone who forever changed my fundamental ideas about foreign languages. My Second Year Spanish teacher was Miss Kramer, a no-nonsense educator who took her subject very seriously. To our surprise, she also took us seriously. Miss Kramer expected 14- to 17-year-olds to comport themselves like adults, and to learn like adults. (Most of us were still quite content to be kids.)
On the first day of class Ms. Kramer sized us up like a Marine drill sergeant looking over a barracks full of new recruits. She matter-of-factly informed us of her goal for the year: We were to become "functional in Spanish" by the following May. And Miss Kramer suggested that the easy ride we had enjoyed in First Year Spanish had come to an end. "I will pace the class," she said. "But I will not work at a pace that insults your intelligence." Such words are Teacherese for "expect to work your tails off."
From the beginning, I knew that Miss Kramer's methodology was going to be radically different from that of the First Year Spanish teacher, whose lessons had kept us safely tethered to the textbook. Miss Kramer brought Spanish out of the textbook and into the real world. "This is how they say it in Mexico versus in South America," Miss Kramer would explain… "This word is only used in Spain." For the first time, I became aware that Spanish was more than an academic subject—it was actually a tool that I could use to communicate with millions of people around the world.
Miss Kramer focused on the specific language needed to accomplish practical, everyday tasks. "Here are the words you need to open a bank account in a Spanish-speaking country…This is what you would say if you wanted to exchange dollars for pesos..." And she wanted us to be able to read the local newspapers in the Spanish-speaking world. Class would frequently open with an announcement like, "Today we are going to analyze the language in an editorial from El Pais that discusses Latin American government."
We were constantly tested on our ability to function in Spanish. Rather than rely solely on watered-down, fill-in-the-blank and multiple choice tests, Miss Kramer made us translate newspaper articles, decipher recordings of radio broadcasts, and write extensive essays in Spanish. I don't know if I was truly "functional" by the time Second Year Spanish broke for summer vacation, but I had absorbed a significant chunk of the language.
One day Miss Kramer said something that has stuck with me for the past twenty years. We were reading a Spanish newspaper article, and she asked a student for an on-the-spot translation of a particular sentence.
The student looked at the sentence, and shifted uncomfortably. He briefly gazed around the room for help, then threw himself on the mercy of Miss Kramer.
"I don't know what se redactan los códigos means," he admitted.
Miss Kramer smiled. "It means, 'the codes of laws are drawn up.'" She paused, and put her copy of the newspaper article down on her desk. She stepped to the front of the room.
"Now class, you'll remember the discussions we have had about vocabulary."
There were a few groans from the room. Ms. Kramer had a habit of assigning us copious amounts of vocabulary to learn.
"The reason that you have to learn so much vocabulary is simple: If you don't know the vocabulary, you'll never get past square one in the real world."
These words became one of my fundamental laws of language learning. Whenever I begin to learn a new language, I start with a heavy dose of vocabulary. But enough on that topic for now: we'll be talking a lot more about vocabulary a bit later..............
(End of Chapter Excerpt)
Copyright © 2005 Beechmont Crest Publishing
