Antonie Wierix (II), after Maerten de Vos:
Kerkvader Ambrosiusm [Churchfather Ambrosium] (1585)

" … even though my forebears just passed through."

When I entered first grade, I spoke as if I'd come from Missouri, close enough to Southern that I was immediately enrolled in a special speech class so I could learn to speak correctly. I had never lived in Missouri, though most of my Mother's forebears had at least passed through there on their way West. Several had initially considered Missouri their objective, but a short stay within that swampy, gray country convinced them that any place would be better than that fever-ridden territory, even Texas. Fortunately for me, they mostly eventually migrated on to Oregon, though they retained their twangs through the two or three subsequent generations. My grandfather, whose name was Elza, pronounced Elzie, spoke with a lightly amused drawl, mispronouncing many words to my ear. Those were the days before television, before the great homogenization of American English that came from tuning into Southern California every evening. Radio dramas still employed stereotyped ethnic dialects that would curdle my granddaughters' ears and even make me blush. Still, we were reared on Katzenjammer Kids German and Chef Boyardee Italian, whicha was good enougha fur me! I had been unaware that I had been pronouncing my words incorrectly.

I was exposed to properly rolled Rs and final syllables; neither had seemed necessary beforehand. My transition into the world of school disturbed me, though I quickly learned to become somebody different when there. Eventually, I didn't even revert to myself when I returned home. I became domesticated. Unbeknownst to me, my ancestors had been successively subjected to similar forces. My oldest recorded forebears undoubtedly spoke Latin, for it served as the Lingua Romana/Franca of Late Antiquity leading into the Dark/Middle Ages. Known as Vulgar Latin, it was the most lasting evidence of Roman occupation, for the inhabitants of the lands the Romans named Gaul spoke many different languages and dialects. Even Italy featured several differing ones. Latin became the language of commerce and diplomacy, not to mention the ever-more powerful papacy. Royalty adopted Latin as evidence of their budding sophistication, an early example of cultures becoming what they ate. Frankish and Germanic tribes might have defeated the Romans, but they adopted many of their customs as their own, especially their language.

Royalty and clergy became the primary conduits of culture, both powered by their mastery of Latin. As laws emerged, they were codified in Latin, as were Bibles and no end to other so-called religious material. Mass was performed in Latin for a reason, and the languages of modern Europe: French, Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese—the so-called Romance languages—share that Vulgar Latin root. Over the centuries, English adopted many terms from the standard Latin. Even today, we toss around Latin phrases when writing contracts or in court, practicing the law, or doctoring. Latin remains a civilizing force in modern Western cultures. We consider those who do not at least dabble in it to be ignorant.

I proved to be invulnerable to the adoption of "foreign" languages. I failed in my seventh-grade attempt to learn French; my failure was helped along by an overly handsy and solicitous teacher who had no business teaching adolescent boys. I ran into him years later, when out celebrating my twenty-first birthday. He hit on me and seemed altogether too interested in whether my to-be first wife and I intended to become family. Those inexplicable stomach aches that drove me into an alternative shop class and out of contention for a college education suddenly made sense. They were my innocent defense against some serious psychological molestation. The gym teacher and coach used to step into the boys' shower with his sixteen-millimeter game camera and film his charges naked and diving for protective corners. Junior High was filled with pervert teachers and scout leaders. I later went on to fail to learn Spanish and German, each shortfall further convincing me that I could never become college material, as if I had some barrier to learning language. I never figured out how to diagram sentences, either.

I still hear vestiges of my native dialect when I'm relaxed and among friends. I might deliberately misuse pronouns for effect or slur my words more than two beers could cause. I sense a coherence when I misuse my language, as if I were liberating myself from centuries of bondage. My forebears spoke everything from Old English to Low German, Scottish, Cornish, and Irish, too. The Northern French spoke Old English before William The Conqueror took Britain, except for Brittany, who inherited their dialect from the Celts, probably more like Cornish. Each dialect colored the Vulgar Latin to produce the distinct languages we recognize today. American English might have become the modern Vulgar Latin, for it quickly adopts terms from every other language it encounters. I can't claim English to have ever been my native tongue. I natively spoke Missourrian even though my forebears just passed through.

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