English With an Accent

This story is more than about language. It's about family resilience, determination, and the immigrant experience. It's about preserving love, connection, and humour. 

English with an accent became our home language. As soon as possible after our arrival in Toronto, Canada, my parents started English lessons. Many immigrant families preserve their language of origin in the home, so their children will learn two languages. At school and in the street, these children will learn English. At home they'll speak their original homeland language.

No language of origin for us

Not my parents. They were so happy to be in Canada. They were so eager to begin a brand new life here. A free life. They couldn't care less about preserving their so-called mother tongue - from a continent where their families were murdered. They wanted no connection with their so-called motherland.

Determination and Resilience

There are tears in my eyes as I remember their determination and their resilience. And their new patriotism for Canada. 

They were determined to speak English. They attended English classes for immigrants. Their teacher told the class that in order to truly learn English, they must speak it at home.

Passionately

They learned English passionately. They learned English religiously. They learned English with an accent.

And so, whenever one of them lapsed into another language - whether it was Polish or Russian or Yiddish - they would remind each other, by yelling "English! English!". Usually it was my father who lapsed into another language. And it was my mother who would correct him. She was the stronger, more determined one. She was his rock.

English with an Accent
was my First Language

Can you guess what my first language was? It was English with an East European accent. A very thick accent. When I began going to school, I was puzzled that the other kids couldn't understand me.

When I spent time with my mom, I would spell some words for her while she penciled the words onto a notepad. She would then sound out the penciled word, followed by a sudden lightbulb understanding.  But in later years she became too impatient for our spelling procedure. She simply couldn't hear as well as she used to. It became especially difficult on the telephone. 

But here's the funniest part. When she couldn't understand me, I began to speak with her in my language of origin, which for me is English with an accent. It's a very thick husky rough East European accent. Suddenly she understood perfectly My kids thought it was hilarious.