Learning Spanish: The Day I Realized Language Is a Door

The Soundtrack of My Childhood

Even before I learned Spanish, it was an important part of my everyday life.

Growing up, I was always surrounded by the melodic sound of spoken Spanish. Between clerks and customers in the checkout line at the grocery store, behind the counter at La Placita (our favorite neighborhood restaurant), the salsa music my stepdad loved...it was everywhere. Spanish floated up through the floorboards of our old house, carried down the halls of my high school. It was part of the soundtrack of my life.

Of course I understood a few of the words—agua, aquí, te quiero, mi amor. The ever-useful mira, mira issued constantly from people of all ages, in all manner of locations, for seemingly infinite purposes. And in the interest of self-preservation as a high schooler, I eventually learned how to tell when I was being referred to. The phrase la gringa always perked up my ears.

A Language I Loved but Never Chose

Even though I loved hearing Spanish and had sneakily transferred all my stepdad’s Willie Colón albums into my personal CD binder (remember those?), it never occurred to me to actually learn Spanish.

In high school, it was by far the most popular foreign language option. So of course, I chose to study French instead. I’m still sometimes annoyingly like that—turning away from perfectly amazing things just because they’re too popular. This is why it took me three years to listen to Hamilton. And why I once rolled my eyes at a book series about some kid named Harry Potter. But I digress.

If he could speak Spanish, why not ME?

I didn’t start learning Spanish until after community college, and when I did, it happened all at once. The spark moment was small, unassuming: I had tagged along to a coworker’s house one evening, and a group of young men were sitting around the kitchen table playing cards, laughing and joking in fast, fluent Spanish.

Most of them had cinnamon or coffee-colored skin, so their Spanish didn’t surprise me. But then I looked at the dealer. He had blue eyes and pale skin, just like me. He was completely immersed in the conversation. Making jokes. Laughing easily. Fluent.

I interrupted his card game with all the grace of a baby deer on roller skates.

“How did you learn Spanish?”“How long did it take?”“How can I learn?”

I had never seen someone who looked like me speaking Spanish like that. And until I did, it hadn’t fully occurred to me that it was possible.

Becoming a Sponge

That moment planted a seed, and when I got to my new college, I signed up for Spanish right away. My professor was a tiny, joyful woman from Argentina named Mireille. I devoured every vocab list and grammar rule she gave me. One day I stayed after class to ask about an idiom and she chuckled: “You are just a sponge.”

And I was! Learning Spanish was like unlocking a code. Suddenly, all those sounds I had grown up with clicked into meaning. It was like standing too close to a blob of color for years, only to take two steps back and realize—it’s a brushstroke. You’re standing in front of a masterpiece.

New Words, New Worlds

As I got better at Spanish, the real gift wasn't just understanding the words—it was realizing that the world was bigger than I had imagined.

In Puerto Rico, I could read the local newspaper and learn about the Jones Act of 1920, which granted U.S. citizenship to Puerto Ricans—a fact I somehow didn’t learn in all my years surrounded by Puerto Rican classmates and friends.

In my Spanish classes, I had to slow down and deconstruct English. Why do we say "sit on my lap" instead of "sit on my legs"? Why don’t we call our children "daughter" or "son" in everyday conversation the way Spanish speakers do? Tiny differences like that suddenly became fascinating.

Language wasn’t just words. It was worldview.

Literally Opening Doors

And then there was the woman at the burgundy door. I had come back to Allentown and was walking around the neighborhood, knocking on doors for a local event. When this woman opened the door, I started to speak in English—and she began gently closing it.

“Espera,” I said. “Puedo hablar en español si prefieres.”

The shift was instant. Her entire body relaxed. She smiled. We talked. It wasn’t a big moment for the world, but it was a big one for me. Because it was the first time I saw how language could literally open a door.

A Key to More Humanity

Since then, Spanish has shown me again and again that every person holds a whole world inside them—and that learning even a few words in another language can be the key to unlocking it. As someone who now teaches and works with kids, I think about that all the time. How many perspectives are we locked out of because we never thought to learn the language?

We live in a culture that often treats bilingualism as an exotic accessory—something nice, but not necessary. And yet, learning another language hasn’t diminished me. It’s made me more. More thoughtful. More connected. More awake.

Still Not Fluent—But Forever Grateful

I’m not fluent. Not yet. One of my dreams is to live in a Spanish-speaking country for a full year and really soak it in. But even with partial fluency, I’ve been able to make friends, understand songs, connect with guests at work, and teach my kids phrases that feel magical in their utility.

Learning Spanish is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I’m still that sponge. Still soaking it all in. And still discovering new parts of the world—and myself—every time I use it.

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Spoken languages aren't the only way we communicate.

Read here about how to help your kids creatively communicate.