I really meant to do this post yesterday, July 4th, in the U.S. but between attending a traditional parade with the family, having them over for dinner, watching the fireworks and getting ready to leave for the airport a few hours later, I had to give it up. I thought my post had lost its relevancy and I would have to wait until next year.
At this posting, I am writing from Caracas, Venezuela where I am interpreting at depositions. Much to my surprise when I arrived, I found out that today is their equivalent of July 4th. It is the country’s date of independence and this year they are celebrating the bicentennial. They started celebrating yesterday when Hugo Chavez returned from his cancer surgery in Cuba. As a student of business I found in interesting that bond yields had sharp gains from speculations that he might be forced to step aside due to health reasons.
I feel like I am in a time warp and that my Independence Day deadline has been extended, so here you have it.
For a hilarious abbreviated history of the English language, click here.
When I came to this country I was 8 years old and it was a wonderful experience for me and my then three brothers, which quickly turned into four. We came from a tropical island (Cuba) to New England, which to us was nothing else but “Davie Crockett” country where we experienced snow, and living in close proximity to the woods where my brothers and I went camping, sledding, built teepees etc. With the characteristic exuberance of youth, nothing fazed us. We were very proud of our initial “F” grades in school before we mastered the language because we thought it stood for “Fine”. I remember going to a speech therapist to recognize the difference between a “sheet” we slept on and the product of our bowels. It didn’t bother me to have my friends laugh with me as I diligently practiced to commit the sounds to memory. I wanted to learn the language so badly that I spent every spare minute reading everything from fairytales to Nancy Drew to the Encyclopedia Britannica, resorting to a flashlight under the covers after lights out.
At this tender age I learned words by reading that one does not commonly use. For years I thought thigh was pronounced like “fig” starting with a “th”. I will always remember how at the “grown-up” age of 21 when I was starting to interpret, a judge asked me to stay for a moment after a hearing to see how I was doing. He asked me how everything was working out and I answered him very seriously that things were somewhat “awry”, pronouncing it to rhyme with “story”. I had always loved that word but had never had the opportunity to actually say it. I was very chagrined when the judge was barely able to suppress a smile and told me with a twinkle in his eye, “you mean awry” and he pronounced the “ry” as in rye bread… Live and learn. That is the name of the game. I went from writing short stories in cursive during elementary school for extra credit, to teaching myself to type my term papers and college newspaper articles on an antique typewriter that my mother purchased in a garage sale. This all paved the way to my doing translations later and my writing this blog now.
English is a beautiful language and we must all do our part to keep it from losing its venerable form. I read a wonderful article I want to share with you in this regard, by a fellow blogger.
Please share your language stories with me and tell me how you see the status of the English language. Is it going downhill?