Dueting With Duolingo
I'm finding satisfaction staring at my phone screen to complete daily French and Swedish lessons, but still trying to master the art of real conversations
It isn't even 8 a.m. and already Duolingo's green owl is in a flap, firing off an email. "Hi it's Duo! It's time for your daily French lesson." Sure, I signed up to learn a language. I didn't commit to it being a daily endeavor. But I am a compliant person.
My first exposure to French came from the children's songs, "Frère Jacques" and "Alouette." As well, growing up in Canada, I glanced at food packages which listed ingredients in both French and English. I learned "sucre" was sugar, "poivre" was pepper and sodium hexametaphosphate was basically the same gobbledygook in both languages.
Post-university exposure to French once every four years while watching Olympic ceremonies was not going to do it.
Formal French classes did not begin until grade seven. I had three years of language exposure before moving to Texas in high school where the logical language to study was Spanish. I stuck with French. By twelfth grade, I was the only student at my level, far from fluent and wasting the opportunity to make significant advances with 1:1 instruction.
In university, I enrolled in a course level too high for me and went from plateauing to regressing in language acquisition. While I'd won awards in school for being an outstanding French learner, I realized any hope of fluency was flawed. Post-university exposure to French once every four years while watching Olympic ceremonies was not going to do it.
A Wish for French Fluency
When I returned to Canada thirty years ago, French fluency became a wish once more. I'd spent years in the U.S., speaking proudly of the fact Canada was a bilingual country. Mastering French would make me an example. But other priorities arose with my teaching career. I taught basic first-year French to fifth graders but fretted over how much I was butchering the language for young learners.
Six years ago, I stopped ruing my lack of French and started doing Duolingo, using the app I downloaded to my phone. Why Duolingo? No idea. It could just as easily have been Babbel or Rosetta Stone. It popped up as a screen ad at just the right time.
The green owl's daily reminders have kept me consistent. I've extended my learning streak past 2,000 days. At one point, I'd completed all available lessons. They have since added more content. I can now use specific vocabulary to express frustration and to ask strangers about murder investigations. Handy knowledge.
Early on, I added Swedish as another language to learn and I completed all units several years ago. Does that make me fluent? Hardly. Still, I am well-practiced should I ever need to indicate there is a moose behind the restaurant ("Det finns en älg bakom restaurangen") and I understand the cheeky Swedish joke, "Tigern tyker om vegetarianen" (The tiger likes the vegetarian).
While fluency in either language remains a lofty goal, I sometimes convince myself that is not the point. This occurs on days I'm once again mixing up Swedish adverbs or failing to understand when to use the French subjunctive.
Duolingo presents a way of passing time. On travel days, when I'm in lines at the airport, I power through lessons to distract me from anxiety and to keep myself from becoming disgruntled over how my line is moving slower than the others. It's my go-to when I'm riding the bus or light rail. I pull it out when chronically late friends remain true to their reputation. The app has become my alternative to doomscrolling, knitting or hours spent on Candy Crush.
I enjoy learning for its own sake. I tell myself I am accomplishing more from matching Swedish and English words than I would by writing single digits in Sudoku boxes or reading iffy political posts my mother shares on Facebook. I am at the point where I can use pen to answer French-related New York Times crossword clues.
Humbled by My Attempts to Learn
Despite my impressive daily learning streak, I am humbled when confronted with Swedish or French in real life. I can't keep up with either language on radio. When I dare to watch a movie in either language, I am wholly dependent on English captions. I have more success reading small passages, enough to convince myself I'm making progress, however slow.
While in Montreal last year, I'd hoped to practice my French, but I kept stumbling over my coffee order, butchering how to say "oat" for oat milk so many times I clammed up with most other conversation.
Speaking Swedish or French has made me particularly vulnerable. After I'd completed all Swedish levels, I shared this teensy triumph with my partner who is sometimes too easily proud of me. When we traveled to Key West to meet a couple of his clients who happened to be true Swedes, he immediately blurted, "Gregory knows Swedish!" As people tend to do, Anika turned to me and said something in what I can only assume, based on context, was Swedish. (In my defense, the acoustics in the restaurant were terrible.)
"I'm sorry," I said. "I don't understand." Anika frowned and for the remainder of the meal there were no attempts to speak Swedish. She may have concluded I'd only watched an Ingmar Bergman movie or I was an ABBA fan. (Neither "Mamma Mia" nor "Chiquitita" offers a helpful Swedish primer.)
While in Montreal last year, I'd hoped to practice my French, but I kept stumbling over my coffee order, butchering how to say "oat" for oat milk so many times I clammed up with most other conversation. Montrealers graciously — and effortlessly — switched to English. It was only with the friends I was visiting — Alvaro from Honduras and Katharina from Germany — that I engaged in small French conversations. Alvaro, who speaks five languages, dared to say, "Your French is pretty good." I was shocked his nose didn't grow half a foot.
I'm gaining confidence while saying useful Swedish statements like, "Han har en ny gul osthyvel" (He has a new yellow cheese slicer).
Any downside to my time learning languages comes from some of the game structures embedded in Duolingo. Points are awarded for finishing in the top three for any given week in my assigned group of up to thirty learners. I don't use the points I've amassed so a stellar finish is, in effect, pointless. Still, I've been known to cram in extra lessons at week's end just so I can say to myself, "I'm number three!"
I continue my lessons. I speed through review drills. I score well on the friendly app. It will likely require an immersive experience for me to achieve fluency. That may never happen and, although I will be disappointed, I can't deny finding satisfaction staring at my phone screen to complete daily lessons and watching Duo flap his wings in joy as I climb into the week's top ten. I'm gaining confidence while saying useful Swedish statements like, "Han har en ny gul osthyvel" (He has a new yellow cheese slicer) and hopefully useless French phrases like, "Je pense que mon voisin a commis un meurtre" (I think my neighbor committed murder).
Let it be a consolation my only present use for the word murder pertains to French lessons. I shall not agitate the people around me by taking up the violin as well.
