As an adult we get the illusion we’ve got things together and we’re presenting an articulate and refined person to the world. I watch this in myself and others with great fascination and I’ve written before about things not being as they seem on the outside. But once you start raising a person who uses your façade as a blueprint, the cracks in your perfect presentation become quite glaring.
The other night my wife and I went to a movie. Which might not seem worth noting except it’s the third film my wife has seen in a theater since our son was born. And now that we live in a small mountain town, going anywhere at night causes you to experience an inky blackness which is simply impossible in a big city. It’s easy to drive through downtown Dallas and never realize your lights are off. In Park City you can’t leave the parking lot.
The English language fascinates me. Unlike French or Italian, English lacks a lyrical or sensual structure, even when coming out of Kiera Knightly. Yet, whenever I think I should really learn another language I’m reminded how much I really don’t know my first one.
I don’t remember learning English. I’m sure I was full of questions about it, but I truly have no memories of asking about a word or learning a new phrase. For me, vocabulary exercises are linked to those specially hellish memories of classes which couldn’t end fast enough. Yet, now that we’re spending time parroting things for my son I’ve gained a new perspective on the enormous mountain of learning associated with English. In fact, maybe I need to learn something else because the scale can’t be larger than the jumbled mess of rules and exceptions which make up my native tongue.
