The English Language
Most people don’t choose the language they speak. I, if my mother is to be believed, did. Her plan to raise me as a bilingual child foundered on my stubborn insistence on responding to and in English and not French. My tongue spoke only English I said and so that is the language I was raised in. Freudians can speculate on this endlessly I suppose. The fact remains that English is not only my ‘mother tongue’ but also my sandbox and plaything. I am also, to the annoyance of students, a guardian and shepherd of this tongue, a role of which I am deeply unworthy. Deep down I don’t regret this though my Gaelic and French speaking ancestors may think I have sold out to the oppressors. Perhaps I have but the fact remains that, though it is almost impossible to articulate this sensibly, I made the exact right choice. I am aware, of course, that if I were raised as a Mandarin speaker I might say the same of Mandarin. Though obvious, this objection does not quite sway me...