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This question, so frequently posed by parents, is deeply sensitive and complex.
I've always been at a loss when asked to answer it. What do you mean? The first "mama"? Or the first coherent sentence, if we're talking about one's native language? Don't we often cringe in embarrassment at the speech of some talk show participants who seem to struggle with proper Russian? Conversely, aren't there TV hosts whose eloquence is so captivating that we begin to doubt our own articulation? Isn't the process of refining speech endless? Once I truly grasped the essence of this query, my response became effortless and unequivocal: “When? On the very first lesson!” If a three, four, five, or seven-year-old child says a two-letter phrase like "Hi!" and everything about them, from their smile to their gesture, genuinely greets you, then you can confidently claim that the child speaks English. However, if a high school student laboriously recounts a lengthy text about London, clearly distracted (evident from their eyes and intonation), then, regrettably, we might conclude that the student doesn't truly speak English...
Every time we speak in our native language, we aim to convey something, to ask, to answer, to call out... This intent, this very motivation, is the sole and absolutely vital ingredient for any utterance. But let's not mistake this motivation for those nudges from parents: "say it in English" or "how do you say 'cup' in English?" Avoid pushing your child into parroting words, or they might never progress beyond that stage. Our feathered friend, the parrot, might only ever say "Good Ke$ha" or "Silly bird" because it doesn't truly understand the words. Similarly perilous is the "say, ...." method. (When a teacher prompts a student's speech by prefixing the word SAY to the start of a phrase the student should repeat). This English-language version of prompting speech in a "parrot-like" style also undermines the fundamental principle of authenticity.
...A delightful little girl, about five years old, seeing me in the foyer of a children's club, exclaims, "I know you're English!" and loudly declares, "I LIKE ICE CREAM." Her mother beams proudly at the audience, convinced her daughter speaks English fluently. Meanwhile, I find myself wondering what association with ice cream I might conjure up, given I'm a woman of a rather robust build.
Understandably, parents are eager to hear their child's English speech, especially if they've been learning the language for a month, a year, or even two. They might try to squeeze these words out of them, much like toothpaste from a tube, forgetting that the process ought to be entirely organic.
Recall the old joke where a child remains silent for 8 years and suddenly asks for salt at the dinner table, responding to his parents' shocked faces with, "Until now, everything was salty." In essence – await the undersalted moment, or create it.
So, instead of urging your child to speak in English, should you address them in the language yourself?
Precisely. However, this approach is fraught with pitfalls that most parents inevitably stumble into.
So, what and how should we converse with our children in English?
From the joke: "How much is two plus two?" Müller asks Stirlitz. Stirlitz ponders deeply. Here's the catch: Stirlitz knew the answer to two plus two, but he wasn't sure if Müller did.
Drawing a parallel,
A mother points to a red block and asks her child, "What colour is it?"
The child's thought process goes like this:
1) "Is Mom colorblind?" - No!
2) "Does she want to make sure I'm not colorblind?" - Unlikely.
3) "Ah! Mom is checking if I know this in English!"
Dear reader! Each of you, even the most law-abiding who has never ridden without a ticket, slightly flinches upon seeing a ticket inspector (what if the ticket got lost somewhere?). In any case, the reaction to a ticket inspector entering the train is not the same as seeing an ice cream vendor.
With such questions, you're not just failing to motivate but are essentially cutting off their oxygen.
Let's go back to Stanislavski's system and look at the "lie detector" bulb – it's desperately flashing red. Sadly, these are the type of questions that parents often bombard their children with.
Imagine a dad asking his son, "What is your name?"
There are many jokes about forgetful fathers like:
- "Which grade is your son in?"
- "Wait! Isn’t he in kindergarten?"
But how distracted must one be to forget their own child's name?
So, it's clear that the question should be entirely natural and seamlessly integrated into your daily conversations. But that's not all. Let's pay attention to our “bulb.” Does it only flash red in response to insincere questions? Turns out, no. The genuine, truthful intonation of your question is just as important.
Let's envision a hypothetical scenario: An opera singer listens to the introduction of an aria, but suddenly the violins go off-key, and the conductor gives the wrong cue, mixing up the beats. What will the singer do? He'll be perplexed, stay silent, and won't start his aria.
A falsely uttered phrase or question from you is like a false introduction, and if your child remains silent in response, rejoice! It means they are on the right track, and they have a chance to master the language. But if after your profound "WHAT KALOR IS IT?", you hear a compliant "IT IS RED," you can congratulate yourself: your parental authority has overwhelmed the teacher's efforts. Your child has confidently followed in the footsteps of their mother (or father), meaning in their twenties or thirties, they'll be trying to find courses to finally learn how to speak. And your grandchildren will again hear from their parent about the same "WHAT KALOR IS IT."
- Still, you must understand us, the parents! How do we determine if our child can speak? To discuss current vocabulary topics, neither he nor we have the necessary lexicon, but apparently, we can't ask about what they're learning either.
As the saying goes, if you shouldn’t but really want to, then you can! Now, as a surprise, as a way out of this deadlock, we reveal a secret: three magical words that transform any silly question into a smart one. These words are: Let's play a game!
So, after uttering this magic spell, you can ask any question, even "What is your name?" or "What color is it?" by setting up the course of the game. If it's challenging or there's no time to be creative, glance into the textbook and "borrow" any game situation where any speaking structure is practiced using pictures, charts, or diagrams. (Of course, communicative English textbooks from English publishers are meant here). That's precisely what the teacher does with your child. That's why in class, the child speaks, and by the way, they do it genuinely. Just watch the enthusiasm with which children cover a drawing from each other with their palms, interrogating their game partner about spiders and mice in the closet, for instance, which they placed there with a pencil, showcasing their wild imagination... In class, this motivation is present like a magnetic field, like a current ensuring our green light's continuous function. Moreover, if the teacher never speaks Russian, gradually answering them in English becomes more convenient than in Russian.
"Yes, but this implies that only a parent fluent in the language has the right to speak it with the child."
That's almost true, but not quite. As the English say, "Where there is a will, there is a way" or "If you can't have the best, make the best of what you have."
I'll provide two sharply contrasting real-life examples. The first one we'll call "woes of being too clever," and the second "necessity is the mother of invention."
So, the first example. The father (a graduate of MGIMO with fluent English) gives his ten-year-old daughter nightly training like:
- the ending of a verb in the third person!
- three forms of the verb "to go"!
And so on...
Probably, this dad sees such a question as a random grammar challenge. But in this situation, it's not about aiming at a flying duck but rather throwing pieces of the duck, like bones and feathers, at her. How to comment on this? Poor girl, her dad would be better off minding his business in his spare time!
The second example.
The mom studied German in school and is clueless in English. She picked up a few phrases about the weather from listening to tapes – her six-year-old child was doing his homework. When, after the lesson, the child began to whine, "Mom, let's go out!" (it was raining outside), she suddenly exclaimed, pointing out the window: "Look! What's the weather like? It's raining!"
Bravo, mom! Full marks!
- How did the child react?
That's precisely the most interesting part. Try to guess with three tries! If the mother had been even a bit insincere, the reactions could have been:
1) "What did you say, mom?" (didn't understand)
2) "Did you say it's raining outside?" (translated)
3) "Oh, mom, are you speaking English?" (surprised by the fact itself, knowing about his mom's lack of knowledge)
But in our scenario, none of the above happened...
The child, without changing his tone, continued to whine, "So what, we'll take an umbrella." Meaning, he didn't even notice the language switch.
Now, that's a perfect example. The fact that the child replied in Russian is irrelevant (well, he doesn't have the word for 'umbrella' in his vocabulary yet). In the next situation, he will answer in English, also not noticing the language switch.
I want to give a small tip to those parents who want to speak with their child in another language - start with exclamatory intonations: cheerful or slightly stern remarks. Don't be scared; I'm not talking about harsh words or yelling. Life happens, and even the most patient parent often scolds their child, raising their voice slightly: "How many times have I told you not to touch...”, “No more cartoons, it's bedtime...”, “Get out of here, I told you...”
If you prepare this phrase in advance and then use it to scold the child when necessary, it will be the easiest start. Why? Because these phrases are intonationally the easiest for the speaker (much easier than narrative ones, for instance) and the most vivid for perception since they are voiced against a backdrop of mild stress.
But please, do not misunderstand and try to intentionally shout something at the child in English - it will have the opposite effect. What I mean is only absolutely natural life situations when you would've raised your voice anyway. In fact, the most striking tone, I repeat (from chapter ...), is "subito piano" (a sudden drop to a quiet voice). Those fluent in the language might be better off whispering in it. (For instance, I love transitioning to a whisper in stories – during these moments, children's auditory perception multiplies – it's like their ears stand on end).
And returning again to the question: "Why doesn't my child speak?" I want to reassure parents: if your child doesn't whisper to himself, it means his psyche is fine. If your son, coming from a lesson, doesn't hurry to stand on a stool and exclaim, "ONE-ONE, LITTLE DOG RAN", seeking praise like the daughter of your friends does, it means your son is growing up to be a real man – reserved and reticent. In short, don't rush things. Allow the child to accumulate knowledge and wait for a genuine need.
- Well, when our whole family goes on vacation and a lot of people around speak English, isn't that motivation enough?
Absolutely, no. Look at the situation from the outside. You're trying to artificially make him speak: "Ask the man what time it is", "Ask the waiter for some juice."
Even if the child is very thirsty, he understands perfectly well that he will get the juice anyway. And then, it's quite possible that it's you whom your son is embarrassed or afraid of the most because your tense expectation is transmitted to him like a psychosis. However, in your absence, when someone from the staff or other vacationers approaches him with a question, rest assured, the necessary phrases will surely come out of his mouth. This is because everyday situations are thoroughly practiced in lessons.
I want to warn you of another danger.
In one hotel, we met a family. The mother and both young school-age sons proudly talk about the father, saying he speaks English absolutely fluently.
"Wherever we go, he communicates absolutely freely with anyone on any topic," the mother narrates.
Observing the father for a week, we find that his English exceeds the "Ellochka's" by twice, meaning he uses not 17, but a whole 35 nouns + a dozen verbs + several pairs of adjectives like: big, small, bad, good, cheap, expensive. And as for grammar, he doesn't burden the interlocutor with such trivialities; all questions begin with do or did...
But how virtuously he masters all this! How contagiously he laughs, patting the shoulders of Arabs and Turks like brothers. Apparently, this father's childhood fell during the first waves of perestroika when many parents suddenly decided that all problems lay in the children's restraint and began to unrestrainedly liberate their offspring with the fervor inherent in our nation.
If such a father's approach is the pinnacle of your aspirations, you may not need to spend much time and effort studying the language. But if you want your child to speak freely, but also grammatically correct, beautifully, wisely, and wittily - don't rush things!
Speaking of such dads! If he suddenly needs real English at work, it will be much harder for him to master it than for those who start from scratch, because he's overly butchered it, worn it out, and basically ruined it.
