Who you really are: a post about national, linguistic and cultural identity for multilinguals.

This post is meant as an entry for the Blogging Carnival on Bilingualism which I will be hosting on April 2nd.
Come back in a few days to check it out!



When our sons were born, we found ourselves having to deal with a complex linguistic situation, being both parents native speakers of different languages (Italian and Dutch), living in a third country (France) and communicating in a fourth language (English). After some research, we opted for the OPOL method, and, 6 years later, we can honestly say it has worked well for us. Although the Belgianite and I are both multilingual, it was natural for us to decide to use our respective native language with the kids.

However, what happens when the parents are bilingual from birth?

Consider Elena, a bilingual native Italian/French speaker: she is married to another bilingual native Spanish/English speaker. The couple resides in the UK. Their 6 months old daughter has all the chances of growing up quadri-lingual. Elena has opted for speaking Italian in the mornings and French in the afternoons, yet she wonders if it is going to really work.

I attended recently a conference of the Café Bilingue here in Paris, where Ranka Bijeljac-Babic, a CNRS researcher, specialized on bilingualism, shared some of the latest research projects on bilingual kids (I am writing a separate post on this conference). Several bilingual parents like Elena asked the same type of question: did they really have to choose one of their native languages? It is easy to relate and understand their resistance to this notion of having to choose. They grew up with 2 languages, each expresses a strong aspect of their personality and is linked to a cultural patrimony that these parents desire passing on. To choose between one or another is like asking them to get rid of one of their arms or legs!

However, specialists seem to be wary of one parent carelessly addressing the child in 2 (ore more) languages during the first 3 years, that is in the delicate phase when the language structure is building itself. The advantage of OPOL is that the child has a clear and well defined identification to a specific parent for each language. This schema provides the necessary linguistic boundaries so that each language can build itself consistently, progressively and separately.

But a careless OPTL (One Parent, Two Languages – note, I am making this up!) can be potentially harmful and lead to all sorts of problematic situations.
The fact that you are bilingual, Elena, is a richness, and you have all the due motivation (and right!) to pass on your cultural heritage, and to stay true to yourself. Moreover, since you probably speak French and Italian (and obviosuly English) on a daily basis, your child has already "heard" you while she was in uterus: research shows that 7 months into the pregnanacy the auditory system of the foetus is complete, hence your baby has grown accustomed to hear you speaking these different languages.

However, since your child is also confronted to 2 additional languages (Spanish from your husband and English from the environment), you have to consider the child and the potential difficulties she might have in dealing with such a complex linguistic arrangements. For bilingual/multilingual children, language acquisition is indeed more complex. The baby has to differentiate the languages (s)he hears, avoid interferences and learn that language is arbitrary.

Here in France pediatricians and speech therapists would strongly recommend you give up one of your 2 native languages. They have an expression I have heard several times, which I find irritating: "faire le deuil d'une de ses langues maternelles," that is, literally, mourning one of your mother tongues. I personally find this unnatural. I think your project is doable, but you need a well defined family language strategy, and loads of motivation, perseverance and patience. Think of the child: try to make things flow. You could, for instance, intensify the presence of other Italian and French speakers in your daughter’ routine. Ideally, you should find a care giver (a nanny, baby sitter) who would speak one of your 2 languages only, let’s say French, and you would only speak Italian. At least until the age of 3.

Alternatively, you can look into language play groups; on top of the different timings devoted to the 2 languages (Italian in the morning, French in the afternoon), you could also link each language to specific moments/activities/places: the bath, the playground, etc.

Finally, don’t be afraid to explain to your child from early on that you speak 2 languages, and why; to tell her your story, to show her on the map these 2 countries. Do not underestimate the meta-linguistic awareness of [multilingual] children!

I find Elena fascinating because she represents a preview of my children’s adulthood: when (if!) they will become parents themselves, they will be confronted with the same issue: will they want to speak Italian, Dutch or French to their kids? Unless their future partner will be a native speaker of any of these three, inevitably some of these languages (and a facet of their personality?) will be lost…

But even before getting to their future parenting issues, I have often wondered and written about their national, linguistic and cultural identity. And, alongside, dwelled on the notion of mother tongue: in Elena’s or my children’ case, we are obliged to use the term ‘mother tongues’:

"Mother tongue: the language a human being learns from birth.” [Language, by Leonard Bloomfield]

“Mother Tongue: the language that the speaker speaks best. In either case, a person's first language is a basis for sociolinguistic identity.” [The native speaker: myth and reality, by Alan Davie])

I have heard people claim: your mother tongue is the one you feel at ease counting in! Plausible: my mother tongue is Italian, I grew up monolingual and learnt languages as an adult. When it comes down to complex calculations (and mind, counting the rest from the baker for me qualifies as a complex calculation!), indeed, I have to resort to Italian. I still manage to do simple operations in English, but God forbid in French! On the other hand, I seem to have a hard time giving out my (French) phone number in English and Italian. But when I have to type in the pin code for my (French) credit card, it's definitely in Italian that I mentally recite the digits.

However, Milo (6) and Zeno (3 and ½) can both count easily in French, Italian and Dutch, so will the same ‘rule’ apply to them? Probably not. What language does Elena resort to for counting? I’d like to know!

“Your mother tongue language is the one you dream in!” I’ve also heard. Milo is a sleep talker and I have heard him on more than one occasion dreaming in French or Italian. Which makes sense!

Nav recently left in a previous post an intriguing related question: “Which language do you think on, when you are not conversing?” I started paying attention to my inner discussions, and I realized that the language varied with the environment or situation. At home it’s mostly Italian. On the way from school to work in the morning it’s French. But at work, or on the way home at night, it’s mostly in English. Basically, it depends upon the language I have been using actively moments earlier. Since I speak these three languages daily in both my personal and professional environment, I happen to think in all three as well.

There is another mother tongue indicator which is pretty infallible: anger! When I am truly upset, words pour out of me in Italian! Milo and Zeno as well, when they fight, it’s in Italian. Will it stay that way over time?

All in all, we, multilinguals and parents of multilingual children, "have to stop thinking that something more complex is necessarily less efficient," as a VP of a top French corporation recently oddly stated. With the rapidly changing demographics of our children' generation, so will change the way we define items like mother tongue and national identity.

Juggling four languages daily (how to stay zen when a pink flamingo becomes a pink Flemish!)

We spent a couple of days on the Cote d' Azur last week, to escape the first winter blues and to take a little deserved break. I purposely focused on our family exchanges and listened carefully to my kids, to what they were saying and how they were saying it. And for the first time I could grasp the depth of the puzzled looks we often generate when communicating in public places: I have indeed noticed in parks, on trains, at restaurants, bystanders after a few minutes stare at us or raise the one eye-brow, after having tried to decode our linguistic arrangements. Some give up and keep their puzzled look until we leave. Some brave ones manage to ask the question: "How many languages do your kids speak?"

This has been inevitable ever since our boys have been around. I, as an Italian native, could not speak anything other than Italian to them. But today, five years later, I sometimes address them or reply to them in French. The Belgianite, man of the North, stuck to his native Nederlands (Dutch). But since he learnt Italian in the meantime, he often does not realize being addressed by the kids in Italian (and replying in Italian as well). And the two of us having met in English, we have kept speaking in English to each other, despite having settled in Paris, France.

A random restaurant conversation can go something like this:

Me to Zeno (IT): "Zeno, vuoi mangiare lo steack haché con le patatine?"
Zeno to me (IT): "Siiiii, tante fritjes!"
Milo to me (IT): “A me solo fritjes, niente carne"
Belgianite to Milo (NL): "Nen, heeft u teveel frietjes gegeten!"
Milo to Belgianite (NL): "Maar ik houd slechts van gebraden gerechten"
Me to Milo (IT): “Non vuoi mangiare del jambon, allora?”
Zeno to me (IT): “Ioooo, iooo il jambon! Anzi, salame! Io voglio il salame!”
Milo to Zeno (IT) "Ohhh Zeno, ma mangi sempre il salame tu!"
Zeno to Milo (IT): “Se vuoi ti do due patatine!"
Zeno to me (IT): “Mamma…mamma….”
Me to Zeno (IT): “Sssshhh, non gridare!”
Me to Belgianite (ENG): “What are you gonna have?
Zeno to me (IT): “Mammaaaa…MAMMAAA!!! Mi hai interromputo!”
Belgianite to Zeno (NL): “Hoorde u wat de mamma's zeiden? Gil niet!”
Me to Zeno (IT): “Si dice interrotto, amore; cosa c’é?”
Belgianite to me (ENG): “I'm hesitating between the fish soup and the aioli"
Milo to Belgianite (IT): “Fish...hai detto fish papa'?”
Belgianite to Milo (NL): “Ja, fish betekent vis”
Milo to Belgianite (NL): “Ah, ja, de vis! Leker vis!”
Me to waiter (FR): “On peut avovir de l'eau petillante, s'il vous plait?”
Zeno to me (FR/IT): “Moi j'ame l'eau petillante! Con le bollicine!”

The waiter in the meantime has started to make drawings on his note-pad and is getting a headache! As much as our family multilingualism has become a natural status for us, I am realizing for the first time how, in the eyes of the observer, we are simply crazy. And no matter how much eventually the kids showcase a perfect French (or Italian or Dutch) diction and competence, we often receive the odd remark: "Aren't they confused with all these languages?"

I have asked myself the question several times in the last five years. And despite being reassured by the studies and literature on multilingualism, which are slowly becoming available to the general public, I cannot help wondering sometimes if we aren't overdoing it. A very nice lady recently commented on the positive effects that such a mental gymnastic must have on the brain, in the long term. I surely hope so, while on most evenings, by the time I go to bed, I am myself lost in all these languages and sometimes, under stressful conditions, I do not find my words in any of them.

The boys, however, seem to be doing fine: they have perfectly integrated all these languages, which was essential for us. We are also lucky that in our complex arrangement, our countries of birth are neighbouring France, our country of choice. Hence, frequent trips to our native Italy and Belgium have certainly contributed to the successful development of our respective languages for Milo and Zeno. Their schooling in French public schools guarantees a solid command of their French, which to this day is impeccable.
Of course their output in Italian and Dutch is not 100% perfect: in Italian they often create odd versions of the past participle tense of irregular verbs (interromputo instead of 'interrotto,' prenduto instead of 'preso,' etc.), and they sometimes make literal translations from the French (“Ho visto un fiammingo rosa,” instead of ‘fenicottero’(pink flamingo), translating literally from the French flamant rose – but actually translating flamand=Flemish!). But they have a good vocabulary and a solid grammar structure (they conjugate the subjunctive form correctly at 3 and 5, while it’s not the case with most Italian adults!), and once corrected, they immediately integrate the proper word. In Dutch their vocabulary is certainly limited and they do make up a lot of words from the French and the Italian, a phenomenon which, however, inevitably phases out with each trip to Belgium.

But no, they are not confused: they know perfectly well who speaks these languages and with whom they can use them; they are even intrigued in learning new ones.