Things I learned from my Dad: Language is interesting

I didn't realize how fascinating language could be until I listened to my dad explain the meaning of words - things I had taken for granted as is. I didn't even realize how much I looked forward to learn new words and their meanings...until I did.

My first real English teacher was my dad - and my mom by association. At home, for reasons best known to my parents, we spoke English. My dad is very good with words - and not just using them in context, but explaining in some depth (that still awes me till today) their meanings. I took my classes for granted as they were not scheduled and usually informal, even sometimes inconvenient timings. But I remember having a feeling of relish for each new word I learned - from him or other media. I remember as a young teenager, keeping a journal of words and their meanings - my personal dictionary; subscribing to a mailing list (A Word A Day); reading books and stopping smack in the middle of a sentence, reaching for a dictionary to either confirm my suspicion or stand corrected on the meaning of the word. I didn't see it as a big deal, just a little girl trying her hands out on something that she felt compatible with.

Predictably, my best subject in school was language and I even chose french language over music during the final exams. My best teachers were my English teachers and I dare say both of them were similar in more ways than the subject they chose to teach - they were prim, proper and commanding respect from one and all. I liked English a lot as I understood the principles it worked on. Compared to mathematics, these principles seemed pretty straightforward and the most similarity I could was make out between both subjects was when I had to solve 'from first principles' (o how I loved to QED!).

I grew up in Lagos and around Yorubas. Like many Lagos-born-other-tribe-children, i learned Yoruba. First the basics and then a little more. I was particularly interested in knowing the meaning of words, as this meant my chances of correctly decoding a new word was higher but more importantly because I felt more intimate with the language and its people. My language was a different matter in a slightly different way: I took it for granted mostly that I would always understand as I was 'nwa afo' but to my shame, my dad never stops pulling out new and intimidating words from his vocabulary.

Maybe my interest in learning about words (which translated to my love on a play of words) lent me the guts to write (and hence my blogging, a weak attempt at writing a novel at 12, keeping countless diaries/journals), sometimes I think it is an illusion but yet still my love for these words and learning, have anything but diminished. So imagine why I will brag about things I learned from my dad when he still has more to teach me about language - english, igbo...- even now! He is a good teacher, and the one with the longest tenure in my life.