Making a language your own

Recently for my linguistics course , I read and essay by Barbara Mellix titled "From Outside, In" which described her experiences in learning how to write and eventually think in "Standard English" as opposed to the "Black English" she grew up in. Now, I have grown up in "Standard English" and speaking, writing, and thinking in it are completely normal for me. I do not really have any other language that I could think in. But for much of my family this is not the case. Both of my parents were born in the Netherlands and moved to the US, each with their respective families when they were about 18. Both of my parents are completely fluent in English now and only a trace of an accent remains. For my grandparents this is not quite the case. All three of my remaining grandparents have a fairly thick accent and I often hear them reaching for the correct English word when they are speaking. It isn't that they do not speak English, most of the time I understand what they are trying to communicate to me, but it is easy to see that there are times where speaking English is just not natural for my grandparents.

Anyways, after reading this essay by Barbara Mellix, I was reminded of two things. I have heard my mom several times talking about this one question that other people have asked her. The question is: when you think, do you think in Dutch or English or a mixture. I have never heard my mom's answer to this question, for she is not entirely sure herself, but it is still an interesting question. Although my mother grew up speaking Dutch, she uses English much more now. The other thought that came to my mind after reading this essay was in regards to the card my grandfather gave me for my graduation in June. It was a simple but pretty card with well chosen words on the inside and a lovely quote. But it was not the quote that struck me. After I finished reading the card, my grandfather asked me how the writing in the card was. I carefully reread the words inside, marveled for a moment at the handwriting (I love the look of the older European handwriting that I have only seen in cards from my grandparents) and turned to my grandfather. I told him that he had written well and that I found no mistakes. He seemed almost surprised that he had written in correct English and not made a single mistake. It seemed odd to me that even after having lived in the United States for over 25 years, my grandfather still did not trust his writing of the language. But I guess that a new language, especially written language, is one thing that may never belong to someone.