Another Language

Tuesday 1st January 2008

They say that the right (or wrong) teacher can make all the difference to a child's learning and with hindsight, we both agree that this certainly had a bearing on our tackling of a second language.

One event in July 1981 best sums up my short-lived foray into French. I know it to be precisely then, not because of being blessed with some incredible memory (see later) or harbouring some deep-rooted resentment but simply because of the (easily obtainable) release date for a record. I'd actually bailed out of French lessons a year earlier and was sitting that summer lunchtime debating with classmates the merits of the new Department S single, Going Left Right. It was the follow-up that a number of us had been waiting for after their opening salvo, Is Vic There?, crashed the UK charts earlier that spring. As we waited for the afternoon bell, it was clear the record hadn't won over everyone. Indeed a passionate exchange exploring the merits and limitations of this latest 45 was in full swing when the bell went for afternoon classes and within minutes just two of us were left in the corridor. Such was the heat of the debate that we were oblivious to my former French teacher until he yelled 'DETENTION' and wrote our names down.

Detention it seemed was his answer to everything. Foreign language study had started the previous year (Year 3) and if my memory serves correctly, French was the only language on offer. Once the weekly tests began, it was clear I was struggling. A score of less than 5 (out of 10) was rewarded with inappropriate rage and a 'DETENTION'. Most weeks I'd be in detention for half an hour but if I repeated the poor test result, as I often did the next week, I'd be an hour. Under-achievers were humiliated further by being made to read out their (wrong) answers for the amusement of the rest of the class. I sacked French as soon as I could (at the end of Year 3).

Ingrid's school offered both French and German in the second year but pupils weren't given the choice of which to take. She was selected to do German. Up until that point she hadn't had an opinion on languages at all, so as pupils go effectively represented a 'clean slate'. In truth, she was more interested in sports and English literature and despite a very intense (and motivated) teacher, soon found her mind wandering. He got the class repeating in German 'My name is Ingrid, my second name is blah blah blah. This is a cup' and so on. German, not surprisingly, failed to inspire. What they were learning just seemed odd and she found it a very harsh-sounding language too and decided that as it boasted none of the beauty of a language like French, she would give it up at the end of the first year. She always wished she'd had a chance to learn French but once she went out to work at 18, any thoughts of going back to studying quickly disappeared. The idea of learning a second language however, remained firmly in the back of her mind.

I never gave languages a second thought, until I became a band manager in my early 20s. Going on tour in Italy, Germany, France, Spain and Japan could be very demanding. Holidaying was one thing, working, doing business quite another and I was quickly aware of my shortcomings, yet fully convinced of my own inability. 

With the birth of our first child, we've experienced first hand the 'sponge like' nature of a youngster's mind and their incredible capacity for learning and thirst for knowledge. Just over a year ago we found ourselves talking about trying to teach him a second language. First Spanish with Supergato looks a fun way to see if his ability will eclipse our own and we hope that by starting him at four years of age, as opposed to twelve and thirteen like us, he'll enjoy learning a language instead of viewing them negatively as we did.