Lingua Franca

I have never had a talent for foreign languages. I speak English, and that’s pretty much it, other than a smattering of French and Spanish. My husband is Korean and I can’t speak the language other than a few key words and phrases, but I can usually figure out what people are saying. 

But there are lots more languages than French and Spanish and Korean and even English. There’s lingo, jargon, in-jokes, terms of art - and I excel at all of them. I pick up on acronyms and initialisms and slang terms really quickly and from there, I can usually get the feel of a new place or a new group of people. When I’m in a new environment, I can learn the language, so to speak, and I can pick up on visual and auditory clues to puzzle out the place and the people in it. It’s a useful skill to have. 

Sometimes, though, just when I think I know a place and its language inside and out, I get pulled up short and reminded that I’m still relatively new and that I don’t know quite as much as I thought I did. It’s the beginning of the fiscal year and the discussion in almost every meeting revolves around contracts and grants and funding mechanisms and burn rates. Having been in and around federal government offices for a long time, I can keep up with that discourse reasonably well (though do not ask me to provide a recap afterward). But there seem to be a ton of new acronyms and catch phrases with which I am not yet familiar. 

Luckily, that part of the meeting had nothing to do with me, and no one would ever expect any input from me on budget or financial matters. I zoned out until we moved on to other topics. Still, it’s troubling to feel so out of my depth. I’ll pay attention next time. 

*****

The language of football is one that you’d think I’d have mastered by now, considering that my husband and younger son are avid fans, and my house is all football all the time every Sunday from September to February. I have not, however, mastered the language of football, but that is not because I couldn’t if I wanted to. I can hold up my end of any discussion of baseball or NHL hockey, and don’t get me started about college swimming. But I look at that gridiron and the goal posts (is that what they’re called), and its mysteries remain obscured to me. I have no idea where the line of scrimmage is, and although I know that “safety” has two different meanings, I don’t know either of them. 

But who cares, because everyone is home and watching football, and it’s fun just having everyone here. The Commanders are my family’s team, and they’re playing in London, and my husband and both sons and my son’s girlfriend are all here having breakfast and watching the game, which started at 9:30 our time. We made eggs and bacon and pancakes and fruit salad and biscuits, and everyone filled their plates and ate in front of the TV. Right now, I’m sitting outside next to a space heater with raindrops tapping on the metal roof of our outdoor pavilion, having a nice latte before I go back inside to clean up the kitchen and then hang out in front of the game with my people. You don’t have to be fluent in the language to enjoy the culture, is the way I look at it.