An immigrant dilemma

When you’re a native speaker of one of the world’s principal languages, especially English, the 500-pound gorilla, a lot of your passing contacts have to do with that. And it can really be a bother. Danes love to practice their English, which is one thing. A lot have also visited America & can’t imagine I wouldn’t be thrilled to pieces to hear all about it. Then there is the large group who never got anywhere, but seemingly think they have. At least they figure they’re in the know. Stereotypes thrive here – like an old guy who couldn’t believe not all Americans drove Cadillacs. Seriously. Danish is tough to learn. Even little Danish kids speak later than most other kids because of the special tongue twists they have to master. There are 4 vowel sounds not found in English that I couldn’t even hear the first year, let alone pronounce. So now – 35+ years on – I still have an accent everyone can hear after half a sentence. Young people are generally cool about it. They are very good at English, start it in first grade & have so much of it all around that they don’t feel the need to practice on the odd granny who talks funny. Beware 40 & up. Not only do I have to hear their profound musings on my native land, I have to hear it in my native language. Like this ex-sailor who keeps dropping in to the center where I work to have a chat in English – fortunately it’s been a while now. Last time he had just seen ‘The Help’ & wanted to discuss race relations based on that. It seemed he had missed the bit about it taking place in the ‘60s. I suppose that’s about when he was out sailing & docked stateside. Last Friday another man kept going on about how America’s great fun but if you get sick, you’re dead. Let’s hear it for the nuanced view. I talked up Obamacare – the president is my hero – as well as health insurance which would be more widespread if the Republicans could see beyond their own wallets. “I know a joke about Republicans,” said he. “Republicans ARE a joke,” I answered & that finally shut him up. I often feel like a skunk for being so irritated, even though I don’t show it, but I am annoyed by anyone who wastes my time. I know an American artist here who simply refuses to speak English at all, even with me when we’re alone. THAT annoys me too, but doubtless he’s met even more of this sort of thing than I have – so okay, I get it. It is a lot easier now. Obama’s a rock star in Europe – in most of the world, I think, as opposed to Nixon, who was president when I got here, & Bush. The Bush years were like a cosmic echo, but I took it easier. When I first got here & landed in a nest of student Marxists (Don’t get me started. Talking to them was like being trampled by geese.) I felt I had to buy my way into the group by saying something negative about Tricky Dicky. The way Italians must have felt in recent years when they immediately had to assure all present that they did NOT vote for Berlusconi. A lot of Danes say positive things, usually at great length. Maybe that’s how they buy their way to a new exotic acquaintance. Some just switch to English & let it go at that. If they’re good enough I’ll play along. Just.

Of course it’s the natural urge to tell about something that means something to you that’s in play here. I like to talk about America in Denmark & about Denmark in America, but try to be sure the other person feels the same – as in: dialogue, not monologue. Many years ago, when World Learning Inc. was Experiment in International Living, the returning au pairs held reunion meetings often because their Danish friends weren’t interested in hearing about that year, just as American friends aren’t always interested in hearing all about someone’s year as an exchange student. (So why would any odd native speaker be?) Friends are still in the same place, both literally & figuratively, where the one who’s tried something new might almost be a different person. Friends feel insecure & try to erase & rewind. The greatest irony of all was the Fed Ex guy in Tucson. We were sending several boxes of family stuff to Denmark after my father’s death & decided to speak Danish because we needed to get in & out in a hurry. We didn’t want to chat & figured a guy who had to stand alone in his little booth all day would not be in a hurry. But you can’t trust anyone. The minute he heard us he brightened up like a solstice bonfire & chirped, “Taler I dansk!?” Uh oh. He had been an exchange student in DK a few years earlier & blabbediblabblabblah …. Poor guy. We scrammed as soon as we decently could. He had lots more to tell. We’ll never try that again. It’s an immigrant dilemma.