My Mother came to America under less than ideal circumstances. Refugees from the Vietnam War, my Mother, younger sister and I finally arrived to America after nearly 2 weeks of arduous travel, passport checks and delays. She was one of the luckier Vietnamese nationals who had married an American citizen and managed to escape the madness in 1973. I was only a small child at the time, but I do remember clinging desperately to my Mother’s hand as my Father led us to safety in the States. The following is an encapsulation of many long talks I’ve had with my Mother on the subject of her transition to America, and the impact of language on her identify, culture and assimilation.
My Mother has always been an interesting dichotomy of the old and the new. She still practices old Vietnamese customs such as celebrating the Lunar New Year with a visit to the Buddhist Temple, money-stuffed red envelopes for the kids and grandkids, and lots of tasty moon cake. And yet, she was an avid disco dancer, Western fashion queen and working Mom during her time in America. At first, she welcomed the many “American” ways living and sought to adopt many of them. However, it wasn’t long before she felt the harsh reality of some than tolerant individuals and language barriers. Her biggest stumbling block, she tells me, has been her inability to communicate effectively. Her English was and still is only barely intelligible; her accent, thick. Ironically, her English reading and writing skills were more solid, and actually allowed her to secure decent paying jobs over the past decades.
Despite her missed opportunities due to language barriers, she never lost the dream of making a better life for herself and her family. I had always wondered why she had such a fierce determination that my sister and I master English. She hovered over us like a hawk when we studied, making sure we completed all of our math and English assignments religiously. She even kept her usage of Vietnamese around us to a minimum - even in the company of her friends. At the time, there were only a handful of fellow Vietnamese immigrants so most would ecstatic about the chance to converse in Vietnamese. She resisted it. The importance of mastering, not just learning, to speak the language of her new culture was painfully obvious to all of us, and we worked hard to make her proud.
My Mother’s choice to forgo our speaking Vietnamese to speak English has paid off for my sister and me. We’re both working professionals now with good jobs and promising futures. However, a part of me still wishes that I had learned a little more Vietnamese while growing up. Since my childhood, I have felt disconnected with that side of my heritage. Yes, I can speak and understand a few, but I could never hold a conversation in Vietnamese if my life depended on it. I can only imagine what her struggle to assimilate a new culture and language must have felt like.
On a more positive note, the Vietnamese language and culture seems to have resurfaced over the past 2 decades. I’ve observed a growing number of Vietnamese-American children able to speak both fluent Vietnamese and English. In contrast, most 1st generation Vietnamese-American individuals like myself can barely speak Vietnamese except for a few formal greetings or insult phrases. The ease with which the newer generations can speak in their native Vietnamese language and converse fluently in English is impressive and inspiring. It has been great to see that cultural assimilation does not necessarily mean the death of a language.
I really liked your blog! My great grandmother had to go through the same sort of thing during World War II. She used to tell me about everything she had to go through and how strong she had to be. She too was not very good at English, and she once bought me a dogtoy for my Christmas present because it was cute, but she made due with what she could. She was fluent in Japanese and found it extremely difficult at times, but also managed! That story about your mother is a great example of why language makes people who they are today. I also really liked the fact that I could somewhat relate from the sense of my great-grandmother. I had never really thought about it.
ReplyDeleteHey John!
ReplyDeleteAfter reading your story, I find it to be very touching and inspirational. It is very similar to my upbringing, like you, I am a first generation Vietnamese-American. I came here when I was in the sixth grade and had some of the troubles that your mom faced when she first arrived to the states. I did not have an English background but over the past eight years I have been surrounded by the English language and am more comfortable speaking it now. I can agree with what you said about customs and traditions, my parents are very traditional. Still to this day, they practice the same customs that you had mentioned in your blog. They have also instilled me with the characteristic of trying to be the best that I can be and they try to improve my English as well so that I can have more opportunities in the future. They want whats best for me, similar to your mother, she knows that the language of English is a very important aspect in life that we all need. It is interesting to see other Vietnamese-American stories about their hardships and I can relate to every aspect that you talked about. It seems as if all Vietnamese people share the common interest of the betterment for their family and their lives. That is a very good trait to have and it makes me proud to see how hard Vietnamese people work. They have my respect and gratitude and I am proud to be a true Vietnamese-American.
Like you, my husband was not raised to speak a language other than English. Also like you, he can sling it, too - the insults, the cuss words, and the important words like how to order from a menu, and about 50 prime phrases used only when the family is all together but that's about it. He also regrets not being able to speak what he calls his "family" language but is thankful for the opportunities that coming to America held for the families, both then and now.
ReplyDeleteHere's a logical fallacy for you: With every death there is a replacement by way of a new birth. Consider that perhaps the metaphoric "death of a language" was necessary in order for the birth of the new generation to not only assimilate, but to also appreciate the impact their historical heritage has on their present-day identities. Individuals like your mother and father are responsible for that change for the good.