When I first met my cousin’s two daughters, they were three and five years old, rambunctious and funny and shy. I also didn’t understand a word they were saying. My sister and I communicated with them mainly by making funny faces that they could imitate, which worked well enough, but I still wished I knew what the littlest one was singing while she narrated her life loudly, off-key.
Three years later, they’re well into their first year living in the United States and going to grade school here. They live close enough to me that I see them every few months, including yesterday’s Rittenhouse Square picnic on a most perfect of spring Sundays.
At first the girls were shy, and I talked to them as I always do, slowly and carefully so they would understand me. It wasn’t until we transferred to a nearby playground that I realized how idiotic I must have sounded to them. Their everyday English is nearly perfect, with accents to match. The littlest one ran around saying, ‘oh my god, oh my god, oh my god’ to herself, narrating her journey around the jungle gym, and told ‘jokes’ that went, ‘a hippo wearing underpants kissing a lion on top of an elephant!’ The oldest one is more shy, so her English isn’t as natural as her sister’s, but she still understood everything I said.
This is what their parents wanted, and why they brought them to the States. Being able to speak English fluently is a HUGE deal in Korea, but their methods of learning English make it difficult. Koreans can often read English very well, but they don’t get as much training in speaking and responding. Also, Korean schools are much more difficult than American schools in that they do a lot more rote memorization and less integrative learning. Because entrance exams constitute the bulk of your application to colleges, it’s also not uncommon for students to go from school to another school, where they cram facts into their heads.
It’s clearly good for the girls that they’re here, in a more forgiving educational system. They have a strong Korean community through their church, they’re going to a school that they love, and they’re thriving. The girls have really made me believe in the adaptability of children, their ability to adjust and find happiness in any situation. Already, they’re speaking with better accents and fluidity than their parents, who have studied English all their lives.
Still, I was nervous about the move, because I think these changes can end up being tough on kids. Already, they’re more comfortable here than their parents, both socially and linguistically. And though I knew they had to grow up eventually, there was something beautiful about their life in their village, where everyone knew them and vice versa. They could stomp and play anywhere they wanted, they were daily adored by their parents and grandparents, and things seemed easy. Now, I worry that they’ll take on responsibility for translating the US for their parents, and that they’ll no longer be able to enjoy the village the way they once did.
Then again, it’s hard to beat the fact that they’re happy. And still rambunctious, and silly, and shy.
