Spanish or English: A Matter of Choice? (Part I)

If we choose, we can live in a world of comforting illusion.
Noam Chomsky

The limits of my language means the limits of my world.
Ludwig Wittgenstein

An identity would seem to be arrived at by the way in which a person faces and uses his experience.
James Baldwin

(The question that prompted this essay has been dogging me for weeks. At first I believed I could provide a short, simple answer. That has not been the case, however. To keep from making this piece overly long, and because I haven't yet finished it, I will post "Spanish or English?" in several parts.)


The question came without forewarning, and in Spanish: “Dr. Sirias, what language do you prefer? English or Spanish?”

The eyes of every adolescent in that ninth-grade Spanish-language literature classroom were on me, eager to hear my reply. I fumbled through my answer, trying in earnest to please the questioner, but I soon found myself lost in a maze of recollections, trying to grasp the key moments of my life with regard to language. Mercifully, before long I noticed the students’ gazes glazing over. Those are looks I usually dread, but on this day I welcomed them. My unsteady and rather incoherent reply had lost their interest. Besides, something I said along the way steered the discussion in another direction of far greater interest to ninth graders.

The awkward moment was forgotten, but for days afterward the question continued to nag me, and while it turned in my head it elicited other questions:

What was, in fact, my preferred language?

Did I choose that language, or did circumstances choose it for me?

The answers, at least in my case—and I suspect it’s the same with most bilingual people—is not that simple.

Growing up in Los Angeles, the first five years of my life were equal parts Spanish and English. At the time my mother was learning English, so I had no option but to communicate with her in Spanish. Also, my paternal grandmother, who lived nearby, never mastered English, so Spanish was the language in which I related to her. What’s more, my parents’ closest relatives and friends preferred Spanish. Thus, Spanish was the language I associated with family, as well as with feeling safe and loved.

Yet English reigned in the world beyond this intimate circle, and through my fully bilingual father, neighborhood friends, cousins, radio, and television, I acquired this language as well. I can’t say that I remember having to work at becoming bilingual; rather, it seems that with childlike ease I had made both languages part of me.

But this peaceful linguistic co-existence changed abruptly my first day in kindergarten. Almost overnight, the need to communicate effectively in Spanish ceased. English became the language of new friends, of pleasing teachers, of reading and, soon to follow, writing. And it wasn’t a matter of teachers forcing me to abandon the language of home—although they certainly failed to mention that it would benefit me to become competent in Spanish—but what happened was that my identity shifted radically, and I wanted, more than anything, to fit in seamlessly with my English-speaking classmates.

Before long I was code-switching at home, in conversations with my mother. “Mamá, have you seen my almohada?” I’d asked when I couldn’t find my favorite pillow. Or, “Mamá, quiero un sandwich de peanut butter y jelly.” But my newfound talent for mixing languages didn’t impress her. In fact, she became exasperated with what she saw as sheer laziness, of my lack of the intellectual discipline necessary to be in command of her native language. The conflict came to a head when, having code-switched once too often, my mother said to me, “Stop that! I’d prefer you speak to me only in English rather than hearing you speak that way.”

I still recall that as a liberating day.

I had been freed of the chains Spanish had started to represent, not because I didn’t like the language, but because my most important relationships were now in English, and with few opportunities to practice, using Spanish became work in which I had to perform mental calisthenics to find the right words, the correct verb tenses, and the proper syntax. My formal instruction in language was now exclusively in English and the Spanish voices that once swarmed inside of my head became muted, if not silent. After my mother reprimanded me, I gladly renounced Spanish as well—but little could I foresee the turn of events my life would take in only a matter of years.

Still, I was happy to convert to monolingualism—knowing only one language represented a lot less work. Of course I understood just about everything people said in Spanish, but to speak the language became increasingly difficult each passing day. Moreover, in the late 1950s and early 1960s there were few opportunities to practice outside of the home. Although we still have quite a way to go, in comparison to today, the United States was absolutely intolerant of any language other than English being used in public.

Since language has always played an important role in my life, I absorbed every word and nuance of English with relish. The narrative of my life was now being written almost entirely in that language, with the concession of a few words of Spanish sprinkled in to remind me of the culture of home. But the world I wanted to conquer, to excel in, spoke English: the language I now associated with becoming a successful “American.”

But then, without warning, when I had just turned eleven, my parents announced that we were moving to Nicaragua, the land of their birth. My father had received a job offer that would free him from working in a factory and my mother, who was experiencing health problems, wanted to live close to her family. Overnight, I had been ripped away from the solid footing and emotional comfort of English. Once in Nicaragua, I was placed in a monolingual, all-boys, Catholic school. And if I wished to avoid being the object of ridicule—my difficulties in Spanish rendered me entertainment-fodder for my new classmates—for the first time in my life I had to work, and work hard and fast, to learn a language.