My Son Has The Bilingual Boy Jitters

In an effort to raise my children to be bilingual I drive twenty-five minutes out of my way so that they may take CCD classes in Spanish. My daughter was first, and she did rather well. It turns out that I was not the only one with this bright idea. In one meeting with the parents, the coordinators and priests mentioned that while some children in the Spanish CCD classes didn't even speak the language, it was great for them to go so that they get the extra language enrichment on top of the religion, and retain a grasp of their culture and community. I was always very proud of my daughter, especially when her teachers would comment on how well she spoke the language.

My eldest made her communion last year and this year my son started his religious education. I take him to the same church, with the same teachers. My son, though rather fluent at home, is much more reluctant to speak with others outside the home. Last night he came to me, in tears, pleading that I let him take CCD in English. I know that would be an easy move for me to make for him, but it would be the worst decision I could make for him as well. I let him know that I completely understood his fears. I reminded him that I too was born here, had mostly English speaking friends, only heard Spanish at home, and was often, as I still am at times, unsure of my actual fluency.

Then I told him about the one time that I was nervous about my Spanish but had no other choice but to plow ahead. I was thirteen years old and was on a plane, with no parent or other family, to visit cousins in Ecuador. They had passed out the aduana forms and I didn't have a pen on me. Now all the flight attendants spoke, it seemed to me, only Spanish. But not just any Spanish, Castellano! And while I had some exposure to Castellano from my father and the very few relatives on his side that had recently emigrated, I was much more fluent in Puerto Rican. I knew that if I asked for a "pluma", I'd get funny looks and asked why I needed a feather. So I sat there, sweating, praying, stalling every time they came to collect the form. Finally, I could stall no more and I decided to pull from the three years of Italian I just finished taking. So I went with "necesito un estilografico?" I still got strange looks. One attendant called over another. Then I tried "necesito una pluma?" More strange looks. Finally I mimed my writing, pointed to the imaginary writing implement, to which they all went "oh, esfero!"

So I told my son "See, don't worry about saying it wrong, people will always want to help." He wasn't quite convinced, though he got a kick out of my story. I then reminded him that being bilingual will do wonders for him with his aspirations of being a rock star/archeologist. He could dig all over South America and rock out over half the world. "Double the fans" I told him. He smirked, and I could see him living it in his head already. Hopefully, there was a Spanish sound track to that daydream.

Are you completely confident in your fluency? Do your kids ever question themselves?