People who speak with an accent, or what some people call “broken English,” have a superpower that many other Americans do not.
They can speak another language.
I understand the xenophobia and racism behind those who mock people who speak with an accent that reveals that they speak another language, but there is no logic to this. People who speak more than one language have a dramatic advantage in the pursuit of making meaningful human connections. With fewer language barriers, more of the world is open to multilingual people. This gives them the potential to have a more profound understanding of the human experience.
My parents have that superpower. They speak Mandarin Chinese and English. They can think in more than one language too and can effortlessly switch between languages mid-sentence. Also, they can move around in different Chinese dialects and even speak a little Japanese. Even after living in America using English as a language for over forty years, there are words they mispronounce. This isn’t a flaw but a feature of what it means to be bilingual. There is nothing to be ashamed about.
I am not bilingual; I don’t speak Mandarin Chinese. I can understand quite a bit. My parents had me do some work in weekend Chinese school, but they didn’t prioritize this part of my education. They didn’t want me to have an accent. While I know now that more often someone raised in America who learns another language as a child doesn’t develop an accent, I understand my parents’ concerns when I was a child. My parents came to America to be American, and language was one way they felt they could be American. So this was a priority they had for my brother and me. Having an accent as an immigrant didn't benefit them, so they didn't want this in hinder me.
When I think about the stumbling around as I speak, and memories and trying to talk and being misunderstood, I know that this is something that my parents have dealt with for most of their adult life. I’ve never heard my parents complain about this, but I’m sure, like racial microaggressions, this is something they have learned to absorb and work through. It may be a minor annoyance one day, but it can take a lot out of a person over forty years. It can take a lot out of life. This is part of their immigrant story, and this is part of my story too.
My parents’ model is probably why I’ve never complained about having a speech impediment. I don’t remember giving my therapist any resistance when I’d pulled from classes to do sessions. This was part of my life. I was aware of other students not needing to go to therapy and sounding “normal.” While peers mocked me for my speech impediment, I felt more left out because I wasn’t as athletic as other boys when I was in elementary school.
In the book “Far From The Tree” Andrew Solomon talks the tension between identity and disability. If someone has a hearing issues that they want to address through a cochlear implant, they see this as a disability. A person who has hearing issues that they do not want to “fix” because they feel included and fluent in the American Sign Language community sees this as part of their identity. What some people view as a disability, other see as an identity.
Right now, I don’t see having a speech impediment as part of my identity. Instead, it is something I want to “fix." However, having this issue has undeniably shaped my identity in a far more positive than negative way. It has brought me closer to understanding my parents, and...well. I can't think about another way it has helped me, but it feels like it has. Clearly, unpacking all of this is a journey, so thanks for riding along on this one.
More to come...
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