Sacrifice, "success," and values

Another post that I started at the beginning of our first year of preschool, but never posted...

I've also been thinking about the values embedded in choosing language immersion--perhaps not all language immersion, but in some cases at least. For most of us, when we think about our child's education, it's all about our child and her development. When we say we want the best education for our child, we usually mean an education that will enable her to be a "successful" adult--to have the tools to be a leading (or at least functioning) member of society. We want her to have accomplishments she can be proud of, to earn respect through a degree, helping people, supporting the community, creating beautiful art, or whatever it is. Perhaps we want her to find her true self and the true path that will make her happy as an adult.

We often think of education as preparation for a job or career, perhaps not at the preschool level, but increasingly as students progress to the next grade level, from elementary to high school to college. I have always imagined that Chinese language immersion and other types of language immersion are viewed with an eventual career in mind too--not always, but sometimes. Chinese language immersion exists, in part, because people feel that Chinese is now a valuable language as China gains money and power. I imagine that other language immersion is also pursued for similar reasons--a businessman who is bilingual has more earning potential.

With Hawaiian and other endangered (or formerly endangered) languages, however, I think the purpose is different. It occurred to me at one point that, in some sense, by enrolling our child in Hawaiian language immersion, we are putting the language and the community above our child. As someone who received a western education, both at school and at home, I was very uncomfortable with this. I assured myself that she would still "succeed." The school addresses these concerns. At orientation, they talk about how the method they use enables students to learn to read at age 4 rather than at age 5 or 6, as in English school. They invite to speak the immersion graduate who earned her Ph.D. These all speak to parental concerns about our children's "success."

Of course, like with other language immersion programs in which children are often learning about languages that their ancestors spoke, we might believe that this connection to their culture will help them be "successful."

By enrolling our child in Hawaiian immersion, though, we are also committing her and, to a lesser degree our family, to helping in the project of keeping Hawaiian alive and advancing it. At first, this struck me as a sacrifice, but recently I've started thinking about it differently. It's not a sacrifice; it simply reflects different values. By enrolling our child in Hawaiian immersion, we are communicating to our child that the most important thing is not for her as an individual to "succeed" (however we define that). The most important thing is the (Hawaiian? Hawaiian-speaking?) community and for her to be a part of it.

When I think about my own education and growth from childhood and, more importantly, through adolescence and then as an adult trying to find my way in life, I wonder how it would have affected me if I had been the recipient of that message. Maybe it would have helped me find direction.

Week 2 Thoughts

Posting this now since I apparently never quite finished it...

• I'm getting used to being in situations where people are talking and I have no idea what's going on. I was at convocation for work earlier this week and it felt weird to understand what people were saying.
• I've been in a conversation once so far where I understood a little of what the kumu was saying, but then it got me in trouble cuz she started going off and I got lost again.

thoughts at the end of the first year

Well, of course I dropped the ball on this blog during the busy-ness of the school year, but now that it's summer and we've finished our first year, I have a lot of thoughts about the whole experience.

1. It's funny how you can be proud of your kid for saying something you don't understand. 
2. The kid's use of Hawaiian is amazing. She, of course, understands everything that is said at school. She uses her 'olelo a lot at home too. 
3. She and Daddy can have entire conversations in 'olelo Hawai'i. She plays in 'olelo Hawai'i a lot (e.g. You be the mommy, I'll be the big sister. You should...). 
4. I can have some conversations in 'olelo Hawai'i with her. I try to practice, for example, translating English books. Kea and I will sometimes be slow in our communications with her, as we try to say something in Hawaiian, and then give up and just say it in English.
5. At one point (toward the end of the school year), she started telling us, "Mai namu haole! (Don't speak English.)" I'm pretty sure this is something she hears at school since one of their school rules is to speak Hawaiian. We were surprised and impressed (that this was coming from a kid who used to say "Don't say 'a'ole!'") and a little bit scared (because our Hawaiian is limited). It's also become kind of a fun game, though, like we will tease her back and tell her "Mai namu haole."
6. She also likes to play school, where she practices language like asking to enter, asking to leave, show and tell.
7. Kea was impressed when she had her first tantrum in Hawaiian. This happened toward the end of the first half of the year. She was screaming, "Makemake e paio! (I want to swing!)" Somehow that moment seemed full of promise.
8. I'm pretty impressed with my own learning too. I can follow most conversations involving kids (e.g. What's in the box? Why? Where is she going?) Conversations between adults, especially adults who are highly proficient in 'olelo Hawai'i are still way beyond my understanding for the most part. 
9. I learned a lot from our language classes, but also just from the kid. I've learned vocab from her (e.g. bee, spider, swing, green beans, hamburger, sandwich, don't touch, kick, move), but also sentence patterns (e.g. want to..., you should...)
10. Also, having started the year with a lot of anxiety--about language as well as things like protocol and belonging--I can say that I feel a lot better about these things now. I used to be hesitant to speak at all--because we are encouraged to speak Hawaiian when at the school, but I have seen from others that it is okay to use English. I have felt very accepted at the school--by parents and teachers alike. I still am not sure about certain protocol, and I'm also just an anxious person by nature, so that's not going away 100%.
11. I think one reason the school is so good is due to the commitment the teachers have. It seems like for all of them, it's not just a job. They really love their work and are committed to the language.

Anyway, next year we'll be starting our second year of preschool at a different campus because we are moving. I'm excited that we have the opportunity to experience two different campuses, and I hope the new school is as great as this one has been.

First days thoughts

• No matter what kind of preschool you choose for your child, the more confident you are about your choice, the better, because they will cry, and knowing that you are making the right decision will make the crying a lot easier to bear.
• I have always been hesitant to use Hawaiian. Take a word like "aloha," for example. Of course I have known this word practically my whole life. Most recently, I occasionally used it when emailing students, following the lead of students and colleagues, I guess, but this often felt disingenuous to me. I also think back to some time around 2000 when some state senator put forth a measure to make "aloha" the official greeting of the Hawai'i state government or something. I think this is part of what made me hesitant to use it. What is the purpose of making it the official greeting of the Hawai'i state government? I was always suspicious of it. 'Olelo Hawai'i, and especially "aloha," is so misused, just to insinuate oneself to the audience or make oneself belong where he or she may actually be unwelcome. Some might say that grad school gave me this fear of appropriation, but I think that it is a good fear to have; I don't want others to abuse language and I don't want to abuse it myself either. In any case, having to speak a couple of sentences when I drop off and pick up my kid everyday has helped me get familiar with having the words in my mouth. When I arrive at work after dropping the kid off, I sometimes feel like it would be natural to greet people, "Aloha." It's an interesting shift for me. I haven't actually done it yet, but maybe soon (or later) I will. 
• It's dawned on me that I can keep a list of my kid's Hawaiian words, just like I did for her English words when she started talking, so here they are so far. Some are ones we had used before she started school; stars next to the new ones: nai'a, honu, mano, popoki*, hipa, hana hou*, aloha, i'a, he'e, poi (does that count?), kumu*. 
  
  

The Ching Chong Method of Children's Language Acquisition

We found a new Hawaiian language picture book--at Target (on O'ahu) of all places. This one has more words than the others we have; some pages just have one long sentence, but others have entire paragraphs. I'm sure I read it very poorly, but I can attempt it at least.

The first time I read it to the kid, I was impressed with her attention span. I mean, she played around a bit, but I was reading both the Hawaiian and the English parts. And again the book is a little on the longer side compared to others (English or Hawaiian) that we read with her, so with those two factors combined, this was a really long book for her!

As I was reading, she started making noises that sounded like approximations of Hawaiian. You know, like how English-speakers say "ching chong" to pretend to speak Chinese? It was like that.

My gut reaction was that this was a bad thing. I mean "ching chonging" is racist right? But then I thought about how babies learn to speak, the babbling, the "bababababa" and "dadadadada." That's also what she's doing right? Just like an infant imitates the sounds around her, my daughter was doing the same thing with this new language that she is hearing more of.

the interview

Like all my other encounters, this one was also fraught with anxiety. I mean, when isn't an interview--especially one done by a panel--anxiety-inducing?

The most interesting thing I came away with, however, was when my husband and I had a chance to ask a question at the end. We're worried about our daughter adjusting to school--not to being away from us (she's been in childcare full-time since she was about a year old), but to a different language environment. At home, we've been trying more and more to use Hawaiian with her--just whatever little vocab we know, like maika'i, a'ole, i'a, honu, ai hea, ku'u hoa. Sometimes we'll substitute words when reading her stories. Sometimes she's cool with it; i'a, he'e, and honu are ones we've used a lot, for example, so she's comfortable with them. Other times, she's like, "No! Don't say 'a'ole'!" So we're a little worried about how she'll react in the school environment.

In response to our question, a parent on the panel said that a lot of gestures are used in the beginning, like miming teeth brushing while giving instructions in Hawaiian. In her response, the lead teacher spoke mostly about children adjusting to being away from their parents, which, like I said, is not our primary concern, but she also said that the parents usually have a harder time adjusting than the children do. I'd heard her say this before and thought she was referring to parents crying in the parking lot because they were leaving their children for the first time, but the more I think about it, the more I think she's also talking about parents' vs. children's challenges adjusting to immersion. I mean, we already know that the learning process will be much slower for us as adults who only attend language class a few times a month while our daughter is at a prime language learning age and immersed in the language 40 hours/week.

The larger realization, however, was that many children around the world attend school in languages different than their home languages, whether they are from non-English speaking families in the U.S. (i.e. immigrants) or children in other parts of the world that are simply more linguistically diverse. This helped me to realize that we shouldn't worry that it's cruel to put our child in an immersion environment, that this is something that many children experience, that it is simply what education is in many situations.

the observation, or the disorientation and anxiety-producing nature of the language immersion environment

I've realized that I have a lot of anxiety around Hawaiian language immersion. That's clear in the name of this blog. Now, after having applied, attending a pre-acceptance orientation, taking my daughter to an observation, being interviewed, and attending a post-acceptance orientation, I'm starting to be a little less anxious. At least we're in, and that's one thing I no longer have to worry about. We've been deemed worthy. (I don't mean to sound like I am hating on the selection process; this is all just my own issue with always worrying what other people think of me.)

Another part of the anxiety is from the newness of preschool. I'm naturally a socially awkward person, so learning to relate to other parents, other people's children, teachers of my child... I think that's all a little anxiety-producing for me.

And then there's the anxiety that comes from being in a language environment in which I have very limited understanding of what's going on. This became especially clear to me at the observation, which was the first time I visited the school.

During the observation, the teachers addressed the children in Hawaiian. I assumed they were trying to gauge student's knowledge of the language. When we left, they spoke to us in Hawaiian. The school director mentioned a "deer in the headlights" look at a recent orientation, and I thought, "That's probably what I look like all the time in this environment." I understand that that's what immersion is; the handbook says that only Hawaiian should be spoken on school grounds, including by visitors. I understand that exposure is how you learn.

Even for myself, in the few times I've interacted with representatives of the school so far, I've learned vocab. I learned "pololei" means "correct" from the director instructing me to check the roster to see if the information is "pololei." I learned "kinai ahi" from another parent who said that is what he does for a living. I learned that "noho" can be used to refer to where you live as well as to mean "sit" from instructions a teacher gave me and from an icebreaker activity for parents that was designed to expose us to Hawaiian. (Disclaimer: I did not check whether my understanding of these words is correct pololei; this is just what I'm gathering so far of their meaning.) So already I can see how immersion works; by being put in this environment where people speak Hawaiian to me, even if a lot of the time I have no idea what's happening, I'm still picking things up.

But being in an environment where I can only barely (and sometimes not at all) understand what is happening is very, very disorienting. At the observation, my daughter asked me to read her a book. We went to the reading area, where I was excited to see so many Hawaiian language books. (We have a couple at home and have had trouble finding age-appropriate ones.) When I opened a book to read, I was prepared for my pronunciation to be horrendous, but I thought I could give it a try--and show that I was making an effort! Many of the books, however, just had too many words for me. The books we have at home have one sentence per page; that I can handle. A paragraph on a page is a bit ahead of my speed. I kept telling my daughter, "This ones too hard. Let's find an easier one."

This is not something that would ever be a concern with me for an English book, so I think this was a humbling experience. It made me think about illiterate parents and maybe even immigrant parents whose children are being educated in a language they aren't skilled in.