For some reason that I do not entirely understand, when people meet me for the first time, I am usually asked where I am from and where did I get my accent. My normal reply is “San Diego.” After a reaction of disbelief, they say that I must be from either Scandinavia, England or some exotic far off corner of the world. I reply that otherwise living in Hawaii for two years during elementary school, I am a native born Californian.

English is my first and only language that I have managed to learn well. I grew up in San Diego, California. I had a few friends from various ethnic backgrounds and learned a little about cultural interaction.

In elementary school, we were up-rooted and moved to Hawaii. My Dad accepted a position within his structural engineering firm to set up a branch of the business in Hawaii. We will always remember how sad he was beginning this endeavor, while the rest of us were ecstatic at being invited into paradise. I look back on this time as one of the best learning experiences. I had now become a minority. The term, Haoli, is a somewhat derogatory term meaning a white person that does not understand much about Hawaiian culture. I learned about language barriers. Hawaii uses what is known as pidgin English. At one point I was asked “You like beef eh?” I seem to remember thinking, “Of course I do,” but I soon realized that perhaps I was not being offered a hamburger but asked if I wanted to fight! I look fondly on those days of going barefoot to school and making friends from a variety of cultures.

In junior high school I studied Spanish. I learned enough to understand the basics. During a summer vacation, I visited a friend who joined the Peace Corps in Venezuela. It was my first experience totally immersed in a foreign language. It was overwhelming to see the children rapidly making friends and learning Spanish, and the adults struggling to overcome the language boundary.

After a visit to Jamaica, I became fascinated with Patua, another English dialect where even though it was still English, it was at times unintelligible and I had to ask, “What did he say?”

I have always enjoyed the music of many cultures. The music of India has always interested me because of its rhythmic and melodic lines instead of the usual harmonic lines we are accustomed to in western music. Even though I do not understand the language, I do resonate with the sounds of the sitar.

My first trip to China was overwhelming. Gone was the familiar alphabet. In its place were Chinese characters. China uses a simplified form of characters but they did not seem too simple to me. I learned a few basic phrases such as, How much does it cost? I don’t understand or Very delicious. The Chinese language uses four distinct tones, a consistent tone, a rising tone, a variable tone, and a falling tone, and the meaning of the same word changes based on these tones. I have practiced them many times and when people are speaking rapidly, it is very difficult to hear them clearly. The most outstanding aspect where they are profoundly beautiful is in the recitation of poetry.

As my wife has tried to teach me Chinese, for some reason I seem to not be able to retain her lessons too well, entering one ear, and rapidly fleeing the other. I reason that I am beyond the age where language is freely absorbed.

Perhaps my perceived dialect is a composite of all these various cultural excursions. Perhaps it is local slang, picked up from friends or co-workers. Perhaps it is from a past life. In any case, I can’t complain as long as I can communicate effectively, and avoid any unnecessary misunderstandings.