As some of you probably know, this is a picture of Grand Central Station in New York City. Doesn't look very busy, does it? But about half an hour after I took this at 7AM in the morning, it was packed with people running everywhere like ants.
Riding on the train that morning I had a wonderful experience. A man and his little girl who I guessed was about age 5 or 6 sat in the seat across the aisle from us. They had a large suitcase with them so I assumed they were going somewhere on a trip. He was speaking in Spanish to his daughter and she was giggling and laughing and having a great time. Suddenly, she burst into song. I have never heard a child sing in Spanish with such glee and fervor. Her father smiled and nodded his head in rhythm to the tune. Such joy. Singing for her father in The Mother Tongue.
That very same day as we were coming home a woman who was seated in front of me told the conductor that she would need a ticket for a child who would be getting on the train a few stops ahead. When the train stopped and the door opened in popped a darling little blond. Her mother was waiting and immediately put her in the seat facing away from me. She opened a box of fruit and fed her some melon and strawberries, all the while murmuring in Russian to her. Smiling the little girl would answer in her high bright voice. I could see the mother's face over the seat and when her daughter was done with the snack she put it away. She began to recite a little rhyme and the girl repeated it. Music to the ears. And then she drew a letter in Cyrillic for the little girl to see. Sounding out the word that began with the letter she made up another rhyme. I was fascinated. The Mother Tongue.
We traveled north to Cape Cod to camp a few days later. While I was cleaning up in the bathhouse one night a mother and two girls came in. They were speaking in French. I was hidden behind the wall so I stopped what I was doing and listened. I speak no French, but I could tell that they were pleading with their mother for a favor. Sweet little voices, begging their parent for something they wanted badly. She laughed and replied in the affirmative. As they left, talking in rapid fire phrases, I knew that they had gotten their way. Ahhhh.....The Mother Tongue.
As I was walking back to camp I mused over the experiences of the last day or two. Children talking to their parents. Parents talking to their children. I couldn't understand a word they said. But I know it was the universal language of love. The Mother Tongue.
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