When I was 7 or 8, my grandfather travelled to Japan for a business trip. It sounded so exotic at the time – the only thing I knew about Japan was that it was somewhat close to China and konnichi wa meant hello.
When Grandad returned, he brought me back a gift. A small black drawstring backpack filled with Japanese candy. As I pulled out all the little plastic-wrapped packages marked with Japanese characters, an unfamiliar smell wafted out, the fragrance of sweet treats I'd never experienced before and am unlikely to ever taste again. It's the smell I associate with the idea of Japan to this day and probably why I was so eager to learn about the language and culture.
A positive experience with different languages in childhood, like mine, can be incredibly advantageous. Our brains are most flexible from birth to age 3, making toddlers particularly adept at picking up aspects of a second or third language. They can learn to speak other languages much as they learn to walk – naturally, with a little help from adults and the environment around them.
And early language skills can benefit a person throughout their lives. Multilinguals are overall better at problem-solving, planning and concentration than monolinguals. Plus there is evidence to show that learning a third language is easier once you've gained a second.
As an added bonus, bilingualism is believed to protect against Alzheimer's. So far, so good.
Setting the foundations for multilingualism can be quite simple too. You don't need fancy tutors, well-travelled relatives or special classes. All it takes is being passively exposed to another language's sound patterns, easily found today via the internet through songs, audiobooks and video clips. Early familiarity with how different words sound and the cadence of a sentence makes it easier to pick up the language in later life once serious study begins.
I reckon that kind of exposure to language may be why I took to Japanese so easily. Not only did I have the fond memory of Granddad's lollies; but as someone born and raised in New Zealand, I've been passively exposed to te reo my whole life.
The two languages can sound remarkably similar. Māori and Japanese each have only five vowel sounds, which are the same in both languages: a as in car, e like ear, i like key, o like more, u like spoon. Those vowel sounds are paired with consonants such as ha, ro, me and nu to create words.
Speakers of either language would intuitively be able to pronounce words like aroha, Rotorua, Tanaka, namae, and tena koe – and I just think that's neat.
Our young people today will grow up far more immersed in bilingualism in everyday life than any of us older folks ever did. Both Māori and English are everywhere – they're on our road signs, in our weather forecasts, at our schools and in our workplaces. And in a few more years it'll be more common still.
Some people don't like that. Two recent examples come to mind: The backlash against a TV presenter using te reo words and phrases on the news, and the defacing of new te reo signs around Tauranga's special maunga Mauao.
Those two cases show that acceptance of our country's dual-cultured nature still has a way to go. I truly don't understand what some people find so offensive about the presence of another language – do they think English will be replaced by te reo Māori? Or that everyone will be forced to get tā moko?
Or maybe it's ignorance that is so frightening.
That's a fate I'm determined to avoid. My child will grow up exposed to te reo. It will be in the books he reads, the music he listens to, and the TV he (occasionally!) watches. That's inevitable, and I embrace it. It's part of his heritage as a Kiwi.
I will also give him the opportunity to learn from other parts of his heritage – he listens to songs sung by his Swiss great-grandmother and is picking up bits of German through osmosis. Children are like sponges.
Maybe in the future, my kid will wander the streets of Zürich, hearing the familiar rhythms of guttural speech, and be struck by the sudden recollection of his Granny's homemade zopf baking in the oven.
Or maybe it'll be the scent of fresh-cooked kumara straight out of the tinfoil at a hāngī that sticks with him forever.
Either way suits me just fine.
Sonya Bateson is a writer, reader, and crafter raising her family in Tauranga. She is a Millennial who enjoys eating avocado on toast, drinking lattes and defying stereotypes. As a sceptic, she reserves the right to change her mind when presented with new evidence.
