Hoy.

So I've decided to learn my native language this year. I think it's going well. The text book is well-written, the instructor is funny and pushes the group to start using what we learn right away. And, some hidden knowledge is resurfacing, which I find reassuring.

I'm having fun, too. But one lesson I didn't expect to learn has been humbling.

In the last class, those of us who were a little familiar with the material discussed how we knew what to say, but were afraid to for fear of saying something incorrectly and enduring our parents' merciless ridicule. This made me think of my mom. Sometimes she would say certain English words with incorrect inflections and we'd laugh and make fun of her, being kids and generally thoughtless and insensitive. But people tend to do that - find amusement as someone speaks in broken English, trying their best to be understood only to be met with bemused looks or outright laughter.

After struggling through two classes I must suggest this to those who laugh: Take a month to learn some simple conversational phrases in say, Swahili. Then walk over to a group of people exceptionally fluent in Swahili and be part of the conversation. Speak Swahili, with no trace of an accent or hesitancy. Pray that you don't call someone's grandmother a boiled root dish by putting the accent of a word in the wrong place. Who's laughing now, eh? See - it's not so easy. It's another case of putting yourself in another's shoes and this was the unexpected lesson.

I do harbor a fear, like David Sedaris when he was learning French, that when I eventually try and speak my native tongue it will sound like a hillbilly version of what is actually a very melodic and joyful language, and the person I'm talking to will assume I suffered some closed head injury as a child. But hopefully they will be sympathetic, ignore my strong Midwest American accent and maybe support my efforts to learn. So I'll just forge ahead. It will most likely be my mom, anyway - and I guess she's entitled to laugh all she wants.