No Disprespect Intended

Uh Oh.

I stewed and excoriated myself for hours last night thinking about whether learning Chinese solely to be able to swear magnificently without consequence is an offensive concept -- if I were talking to someone from Sweden who learned English solely to mess with their buddies in one way or another, wouldn't I feel upset and somehow diminished? Umm, err, uh, well, YES!

So, a big apology to any Chinese readers or others who saw XieXie at her less than culturally-sensitive best last night and felt some sting of offense. It was certainly not intentional. One of the things that has come from learning even a tiny smattering of Chinese has been an increasing interest and respect for Chinese culture, so I truly regret making any rude or insensitive statements. While the interest came from a less than noble place, it has led to a humbler and wiser XieXie.

The first language I tried to learn was Plautdietsch, a language my German-from-Russian Mennonite parents spoke in the home in order to tell secrets, plan Christmas presents, and perhaps tell dirty jokes and inappropriate-for-minors gossip. Who could tell? In our old farmhouse, I used to lie on the grate in my upstairs room to listen in after bedtime, but when they realized this and lapsed into the low-German dialect, it was all Greek to me. In the long run, I've often wished that they'd given in a bit and taught me at least some of the language. Without it, I've lost a big way of holding onto my heritage.

Next was a mandatory immersion into Spanish in my Wyoming junior high school, where the 'tweens were taught Spanish so that they could watch the little kids in the summer during migrant school, a program the local school district offered for the children of farm workers who came through to work in the sugar beet fields. Because my brain was still pretty language-plastic at that stage, I picked up at least enough to ask where the bathrooms are. On my several trips to Mexico, however, actually understanding the directions given for finding "el bano" was more than my vocabulary would handle. Being lost in a major Mexican city (Guadalajara) with no idea how to get to a toilet or back home because you can't understand directions is a scary thing. I survived it, got back to the hotel due to the kindness of strangers, and committed to some major course review before going back to any of the Latin nations.

In college, I decided to take German, "the language of my ancestors" (insert grave and ponderous voice-over here). This lasted one semester, during which I realized that my childhood grate-listening to a very unique dialect did not automatically lead to any sort of talent or even approach the higher level of mastery held by the other students, who'd been taking high school German while I was learning "chico" and "chica." Unfortunately, when I tried to speak German, my brain inserted Spanish. Sometimes a Spanish word, sometimes just a very interesting accent. "Ist el lapiz en dem papel?" It was truly atrocious. I fled at term end in order to maintain a sufficient GPA to keep my scholarships.

Frustrated, I gave up on speaking any non-English language for about 15 years. Then, "Firefly" landed and my interest returned. Even if for nefarious purposes.