‘Half of who you are’: Parent and child reflections on the emotional experiences of reversing familial language shift

A word on context

Since this research project actively involved a child as co-researcher, the paper frequently returns to the question of the role of children in multilingual research. However, this is not the core context of this paper, which is fully explored in another publication (Little and Little, 2022). This paper, instead, aims to provide enough methodological context to the study and family background to make the focus – the emotions experienced and negotiated by Toby and his mother, myself, during the reintroduction of German, the heritage language – accessible to the outside reader.

To understand the context of the research, understanding family background and family language policies is important (De Houwer, 2007). Up until school start at the age of 4, Toby experienced 1 day a week of majority (but not exclusively) German with me, his mother. Weekends and evenings were in a dual language (but English-dominant) environment with his monolingual English-speaking father and me, one day a week was spent with his English-speaking grandmother, and 3 days a week were spent at a monolingual English-speaking nursery. The family language policy was fluid – due to his father not speaking German, family conversations were often in English, typically interspersed with short German interchanges between Toby and me.

Toby’s request to ‘take a break’ from speaking German stemmed from his confusion over the fact that I was not only the only parent speaking the heritage language, but also the one helping him to learn to read in English, and taking him through the school phonics system, that is, meeting school success criteria (Kabuto, 2010). Aware of the likely consequences linked to language attrition, but unwilling to make language a potential cause of anxiety (Sevinç, 2020) and adopting the dual identity of teacher/mother (Okita, 2002), I agreed to a language hiatus, which lasted 2 years. During this time, the use of German in the home was reduced to absolute basics, such as the occasional ‘Gute Nacht’ [‘good night’]. At age 6, however, Toby decided that his ‘break’ had been long enough: he felt he had learnt to read in English to his satisfaction, and wanted to re-start speaking German. He suggested that we could ‘do research together’, and, following an exploration of his understanding of this concept (see Little and Little, 2022 for a full discussion), we agreed to note down key moments in our joint endeavour, and to reflect on our experiences of ‘resurrecting’ the heritage language. While the overall study took 2.5 years in total, this article focuses on the first 2 months, since they were the most emotionally challenging from both our perspectives. As such, the study adds significantly to the under-researched area of reversing language shift at the familial level, by offering a firsthand reflective, qualitative account of emotions and experiences related to reversing language shift from the perspectives of both mother and child, particularly in terms of emotion and identity construction, and the impact this had on family language policy.

The study addresses the following research questions:

What are the experiences, emotions, and attitudes of a mother and child working together to reverse familial language shift?

What are the implications of these emotions on family language policy?

Being an autoethnographic study, the research does not generalize; however, it closely inspects the context of heritage language maintenance from an angle which has been largely unexplored, specifically providing in-depth engagement with a young child’s voice, views, and emotional experiences, making a significant contribution to the argument of including children in family language policy development.

Terminology

This study uses the term ‘heritage language’, despite Blackledge et al. (2008) pointing out that the term ‘heritage’ implies a certain sense of continuity–of context, culture, or values, for example. In the case of our family, we might speak of a ‘disrupted heritage’, since, as Bourdieu (2000) argues, heritage and inheritance are not inevitable, like any inheritance, it may be rejected (Little, 2019), either permanently, or, in Toby’s case, temporarily. The term ‘heritage language’ has been adopted here to illustrate a familial link, a connection–or the potential of one, through shared language, which, in our case, is only ‘inherited’ through one side of the family, since T’.s father is monolingual in English.

Research methods and the role of the research diary

The main data collection consisted of writing down exchanges between us, shortly after they happened, as verbatim as possible. Due to the long-term and naturalistic nature of the study, this method was preferred to audio- or video-recording, instead adopting an approach linked to the critical incident technique (Flanagan, 1954), where we recognised the importance of naturally occurring events as they happened, and then moved to write them down as quickly and as verbatim as possible. Entries were instigated by either one of us, but typically physically written down by me, due to Toby’s age, and checked with those present for accuracy. Most individual exchanges were short, and as such, the process of member-checking allowed for an immediate process of validating research notes and ensuring they were as accurate as memory permitted. While a critical incident-approach is obviously biased towards events which we decided to be note-worthy, thus highlighting a definitive subjective influence (Cypress, 2017), we balanced these diary entries with subsequent reflections (see below), which allowed for an additional form of validation, specifically when it came to exploring the emotions we both felt at the time of the exchange, making the reflections a particularly vital part of this paper.

While some entries were linguistic in nature, most had a specific emotional attachment (see codes below). To explore these emotions, we re-visited each entry approximately 2 days later, reflecting and seeking to understand each other’s emotional reactions, and noting down these reflections, sometimes in conversational format, sometimes as reflective ‘monologues’. The exchanges we chose to include could thus be described as critical incidents, with both of us acknowledging that the term ‘critical’ depends on personal interpretation within contexts (Tripp, 1993), making our reflections a vital part of the data collection process, providing both context and rigour through triangulation, allowing for member-checking among ourselves and facilitating an exploration of our personal perceptions of ‘truth’ (Griffiths, 2008).

The research diary thus constructed consists of 83 pages (25,450 words), covering 2.5 years of verbatim exchanges and follow-on reflections. This article focuses on the first two months of data collection, to highlight initial critical incidents and key moments relating to Toby’s language use and identity development, and specific emotional links, including our mutual frustration related to how the re-introduction of German suddenly impinged on our well-established relationship.

Data analysis

The first 12 pages of the diary cover the first 2 months of data collection (6,534 words), a disproportionate amount, in recognition of the disproportionate number of critical incidents which occurred in the early stages of the project. In analysing the data, the coding framework included both a priori codes and inductive codes (Willis, 2010), with a priori codes determining whether entries were of linguistic interest, or had an emotional focus. Inductive codes then further split these categories according to aspects of either a particular linguistic point (‘grammar’, ‘pronunciation’, and ‘literacy’), or linked to specific emotions or character traits for either one of us (‘frustration’, ‘anxiety’, ‘pride’, ‘joy/happiness’, ‘love’, ‘sadness’, ‘perseverance’, ‘guilt’, ‘anger’). In this framework, entries could be assigned to multiple codes, and tagged according to which one of us had the relevant emotions. Codes were assigned jointly over a series of ‘coding sessions’ during a 1-week holiday period, involving copious amounts of hot chocolate. Finally, an over-arching code tagged all entries Toby and I considered to be part of his ‘identity’. Of particular importance for the following analysis section is that, through our coding, we discovered that Toby identified any engagement with language play as a positive experience (coding as ‘pride’ and or ‘joy’), while also adding the ‘identity’ code. This highlights the importance of involving children directly in the meaning-making from data. Due to critical incidents being imbued with meaning by the participants (Flanagan, 1954), analysis was mainly according to content (Sproule, 2010), the study was less interested in observing patterns, and more focused on exploring the emotional context within which the reversal of familial language shift took place.

Limitations

Drawing on the views and opinions of one mother and her son doubtlessly presents numerous concerns and limitations, some of which have been discussed above. Addressing the issue of representativeness, Yin (2016) argues that within qualitative research, a sample is not necessarily deemed to be representative of a larger population, instead, it is intended to maximise the information which can be gained from one context. Working with Toby on the study for 2.5 years has undoubtedly affected his ability to discuss, share his views, and examine his emotions, in a manner which may not necessarily make him comparable to other children, and it is difficult to unpick where and how these views might have been shaped through parental input, however well-intended. As Miles and Huberman (1994) point out, researcher choices influence the research process, whether the researcher is aware of it or not. As an example, the excerpts presented in this paper were chosen partly based on length, showing interaction and negotiation, and partly due to being deemed to be particularly illustrative of the emotions and codes highlighted below. As a result of this, researcher bias is certainly present here, as in any paper where quotes are chosen as part of the writing process. With the study being a part of our lives for 2.5 years, and subsequently shaping our way of being with each other (Little and Little, 2022), we present the findings as part of our lived and examined experience.

Language and frustration

Only 1 week into the keeping of the diary, common terms and phrases such as ‘Ich hab’ Hunger’ [I’m hungry] returned to daily conversations. In the diary, I reflect that it feels like archaeology – the phrases most recently lost are the ones most quickly recovered. For Toby, these early days were particularly frustrating, as he is forced to consciously experience just how much of the language he has lost. Negotiating this frustration can be painstaking work, and two weeks after Toby’s decision to restart his engagement with German, we had the first exchange that we both regarded as truly ‘critical’ (Tripp, 1993). As the whole family was driving in the car, I was trying to ascertain whether Toby would need a snack for a performance he had the following Wednesday. The transcript gives the languages (German and English) as in the exchange, with figurative [fig.] and literal [lit.] translations where necessary, and actions/additional information provided in {} brackets and *emphasis*.

The conversation continued in this vein for a further 5 minutes, before we, both exasperated, had established whether a snack would be needed. When Toby and I reflected on our exchange 2 days later, to discuss what had happened. Toby explained his frustration of battling on in German, when the situation could have been resolved in a matter of seconds in English, a frustration shared by many bilingual children who feel there is extra work linked to being bilingual (Sevinç, 2016; Little, 2020a), and that being bilingual is not necessarily positive (Ortega, 2018). Together, we realised that, had Toby waited for me to finish the sentence, the addition of the word ‘snack’ would have helped him discern the meaning, but also, that he could have done more to pay attention to the context (there was only one show, and he knew it was on Wednesday). Rather than me helping him with this, asking ‘Wann ist deine Show?’ [‘When is your show?’], we both got caught up in the minutiae of practising the days of the week. We both agreed that my husband’s interjection did little to help diffuse the situation, but Toby also said he felt proud when we managed to conclude the discussion without me lapsing into English. Him being more resilient than I had anticipated is a theme that occurs throughout our exchanges (see below), supporting Mayall’s (2008) view that adults’ attempts to understand children can only ever be a flawed process, unless children are involved directly in the meaning making.

In other exchanges, it was me who got frustrated, rather than Toby. In an exchange 3 weeks after the one above, we drove back from a plant nursery. Toby was interested in alpine plants, and asked why their leaves are so different, leading to the following exchange:

In this conversation, I ultimately gave up and continued the explanation in English, aware that each attempt to clarify led to new difficulties and questions. Nevertheless, in our joint reflection, I expressed my guilt and frustration at not persevering with German, likening it to ‘clipping Toby’s wings’ (Little and Little, 2022). In this reflection, Toby took the lead, expressing reassurance and stating that, as his German would improve, our conversations would get longer and more complex.

Such critical incidents, and our subsequent reflective discussions, led to early changes in family language policy, particularly how new words or barriers to communication were handled. If context was not sufficient to work out new vocabulary, several points of checking might occur, both as translations offered by Toby [Is Kirche [church] church?], and by requests for help [Was ist Ananas?–What is pineapple?] Explanations or translations would be provided spontaneously based on what seemed to be the most straightforward and helpful response. If a response was likely to be long and complicated [such as the response to Toby’s question ‘Was ist Autismus?’–What is autism], the explanation would typically be provided in English, foregrounding understanding over language development. Sometimes, a show-and-tell or geographical explanation was possible – the pineapple in the example above was identified as being ‘neben den Bananen’ [next to the bananas].

One frustration that is worthy of particular mention is linked to Toby’s reaction to our discussion on ‘modelling’ (Lanza, 1997) versus ‘correction’, and his concern to use ‘correct’ language. When we discussed ‘standard’ language during one of our joint reflections, about a month into the research, Toby explained that he wanted to learn ‘correct’ German, which he seemed to loosely categorise as the German he encountered in books, i.e., ‘standard’ German. I explained that I did not feel comfortable ‘correcting’ his language use, and suggested the standard practice of ‘modelling’ instead. Toby reacted angrily, stating:

But that’s not fair. It means I have to listen and try and work out whether I did something wrong. I have to be a detective all the time, and I can’t just talk. That’s stupid!

Toby made it clear that he perceived modelling as deceitful, and not congruent with a collaborative approach to family language policy. We took Toby’s emotions as an opportunity to discuss his ideas on alternative approaches. While it could not be truthfully said that all modelling stopped–sometimes it was part of the natural flow of conversation – standard practice became me asking him if he wanted to know the ‘standard’ grammar or vocabulary, with him deciding spontaneously whether he was interested or not–one example of this is provided below.

Language play and joy as identity

In English, Toby was a competent language user, enjoying language play, finding rhymes, dual meanings, playing word games, etc. As his confidence in using German grew, he quickly sought to make playing with language part of his linguistic repertoire, and there are several examples where he either takes pleasure in a linguistic discovery, or in playing with words. Four weeks into our diary, the following exchange provides an example, as we sit outside watching birds:

It turned out homonyms had been covered in school the day before, and Toby’s realisation that he could spot one in German made him both happy and proud. Creative use of language continued later the same morning, installing a bat box in the garden. As I lifted Toby (who was wearing a bat costume) in the air, I shouted: Du bist eine Fledermaus–du kannst fliegen! [You are a bat – you can fly!] Toby responded: Jaaaaa…ich kann fliegen!!! [Yeeeeah. . .I can fly!!!] After landing, he gave me a cuddle, stating Du bist eine Kuschelmaus! [You are a cuddle-mouse!]

The word play here derives from a ‘Fledermaus’ [bat] literally being a ‘flying’ or ‘winged’ mouse. Toby has a cuddly toy called Kuschelhund [cuddle-dog]. Both these examples show that he is beginning to develop the confidence necessary to play with and explore the language, and to incorporate language play in German into his existing character. When we reflected on this a few days later, Toby explained:

I love playing with language. When you speak two languages, but you can only play games [i.e. make language jokes, be playful with language] in one of them, then that’s sad, it’s like you can’t control it, and you can only say half of what you mean, and other people only understand half of who you are. It’s fun to make up words and to make them mean something. But I like making up words in both languages, and then you are the only one who understands – it’s like we have a secret language. (Aged 6 years, 9 months)

This reflective excerpt re-iterates Toby’s need to be competent in the language to feel comfortable that it expresses his identity – while he did not feel his identity itself was compromised, he believed that not being able to express exactly what was in his mind would impact on his interactions with others: his sense of fun, his inventiveness, and his playfulness were not clear to outsiders, hampered by language barriers. Considering Toby’s emotions as part of our family language policy, and acknowledging his growing confidence, helped him establish his identity as a multilingual. In fact, the re-emerging bilingualism gave way to a new branch of language playfulness and joy, namely by mixing the two languages, showing his emergent ‘creative multilingual voice’ (Cenoz & Gorter, 2013, p. 250). This would result in word creations like ‘ich starviere’ (using the English ‘to starve’ as a basis, but adding a German verb ending in the first person singular). When Toby first used the term 3 weeks into the diary, I burst out laughing, and although the standard phrase [Ich hab’ Hunger – I’m hungry] appears in the diary in the very first week, ‘ich starviere’ remained as a family-specific neologism. The encouragement of translanguaged family neologisms is in direct contrast to some of the families highlighted in Gharibi and Mirvahedi (2021), and, to a lesser extent, Wilson (2021), where some parents would refuse to respond to the societal language, or strictly encourage heritage language use. For us, Toby’s ‘creative multilingual voice’ was inextricably linked to his sense of joy and playfulness, and extending his opportunity to show wit and a sense of fun through translanguaging was an important enabling factor. As such, our family language policy actively celebrated multilingual family neologisms, acknowledging the growing skill it took to create them, and valuing them in their own right, rather than viewing them as ‘mistakes’, or a mere transitionary phase on the way to ‘standard’ language.

Language and love

Toby’s desire to focus on ‘correct’ language is something I return to in the conclusion, but nowhere was our differing focus more apparent than in expressions of love. Five weeks into the project, Toby had taken to saying: ‘Du bist eine guuuute Mama!’ [You are a goooood Mum!] One morning, he extended this sentence: ‘Du bist die gutest Mama in die world!’ [You are the goodest [sic] Mum in the [grammatical error] [world]!]. Despite the above exchange on modelling and his dislike of it, I cannot bring myself ‘correct’ him, and model instead:

Half an hour later, he repeats his initial sentiment. This time, I ask:

For me, the emotional connection changed as Toby repeated the sentence in standard German, even though he instigated the sentiment. For me, it became a question of authenticity and ‘voice’, telling him how to express his love was encroaching on his identity. When we discussed this incident together, though, Toby expressed a very different view, reiterating his earlier dislike of modelling and sharing a sense of betrayal when I did not ‘correct’ him, in an echo of Dewaele’s (2008) statement that ‘[t]he one thing that nobody would wish to get wrong is a declaration of love’ (1753). For him, it was important to know that he could trust me to let him know about any language-related ‘mistakes’, regardless of content. Although for both of us, emotive content of conversations was particularly important, Toby did not share my worry of authenticity – to him, what mattered was to be able to count on me to steer him through any ‘mistakes’.

Three weeks after the exchange described above, at the end of the two-month period covered in this paper, expressions of love recurred in the research diary, as Toby became determined to say Ich hab’ dich mehr lieb als alles auf der Welt! [I love you more than anything in the world.] Following on from the previously discussed entry, he still struggled with Welt/world, and the very similar-sounding ‘als/alles’ [than/anything]. The use of the dative (die Welt – auf der Welt) also remained confusing. Ich hab’ dich lieb [I love you] was a staple phrase, and initially, his version was Ich hab’ dich mehr lieb as alles in die [sic: auf der] world’, with ‘in die world’ being a direct copy from his previous effort above. My attitude towards his efforts on expressing emotion had not changed, as I noted in the diary:

He asks me if he gets it ‘right’, but in saying that it isn’t, I feel like I’m criticising the sentiment as well as the language.

Instead of ‘correcting’ or ‘modelling’, I looked for a more playful way to help him. So when he said Ich hab’ dich mehr lieb als alles auf der world, and he asked me to tell him whether this is ‘correct’, I made a joke out of it and tackled him onto the bed, tickling him and shouting Welt. . …. Welt!! Welt!!! in mock exasperation. He laughed and repeated Welt several times, before saying the full sentence in standard German. Reflecting on this moment a few days later, Toby explained that knowing he got it ‘right’ was an important moment of self-efficacy and control for him.

The playfulness of the incident further helped Toby get over his occupation with ‘correct’ German as ‘standard’ German, which ultimately helped us to adopt a more carefree and flexible approach to our conversations, less encumbered by ‘corrections’, and, ultimately, more communicative and spontaneous.