Ferido 1

Migdon Ferido
Professor Campbell
UWRT 1103
26 January 2016
Saturday Morning Cartoons
I suck at learning new languages. It was actually a surprise when I was told I
spoke English very fluently a few months after we immigrated. I believe I was eight at
the time. English came to me as a surprise itself. If the Big Bang had a feeling, it would
be the feeling of learning how to read, write, and speak English. It happened like an
explosion in my head and then all of a sudden, everything was just naturally in place.
Words, sounds, grammar, all of it, just appeared in my mind. Before that I only knew
basic phrases in English. My dad told me if someone did something nice to you, you say
"thank you". If you did something wrong and you knew it, you say "sorry". When you
find something impressive and amazing you shout, "cool!" Besides those phrases, my
primary knowledge of the English language that I know today is all thanks to the
countless hours of Saturday morning cartoons in our New York apartment.
We moved from the Philippines to the United States in 2004. I was seven at the
time. We lived on 555 Merrick Road in Nassau County, Long Island, New York. We
lived in a rectangular apartment building. The red bricks that armored its walls are
chipped and worn by time. Cobwebs hung from the lights above the lobby door. Coke
cans and candy wrappers move along the ground and sometimes end up on the frail grass.
On the building the windows are caked with dust and debris. Yes, this was a horrid
place. But it was our horrid place. It was our new home.

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Our room had one bedroom, one bathroom, one living room, and one kitchen. I
can't quite recall our room number but I do remember the musty smell of the hallway.
The smell stuck to me just as how it stuck to the walls. My family was the typical family
of four: a husband, a wife, a daughter, and a son. My mom worked as a nurse at South
Nassau County Hospital. My dad, a previously successful merchant mariner, worked as a
janitor for the same hospital where my mom worked. Both my parents already knew how
to read, write, and speak English because they were required to learn it in college. Most
of the time my parents were grammatically incorrect but they still got their point across.
I left the Philippines after first grade and my sister was still a little kid so at that time it
felt like we were in the dark when it came to speaking English.
My new American school with my new American classmates spoke to me but I
heard nothing. They spoke more, and more, and more, and still, I heard nothing. I tried
to respond but no words came from my mouth. My classmates thought me weirdly that I
did not speak and so they decided to avoid me. From then on the only sound I heard were
not words, but silence. I knew the language of silence well and I understood quickly. It
was the language of isolation. I was growing tired of it. I decided to act quick and free
my self from this silence. I decided to free myself from the isolation.
Every Saturday morning Cartoon Network would play its early morning cartoons.
Johnny Bravo was my favorite one of them all. It played every Saturday at around 8:309:30 AM. My favorite character on the show was Johnny of course. Watching him go
through his escapades trying to woo beautiful women always entertained me every
weekend. He would always say "whoa momma" when he's in a heap of trouble and
"Hyeah!" when he flexes his muscular arms while trying to impress a woman. Just as

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how a parrot would mimic his owner's words, I learned English by the oldest way
possible. I mimicked dialogue from Johnny Bravo.
I remember mouthing "whoa momma" for the first time. It was an awkward
experience at first. I mouthed the phrase but no voice came out my mouth, yet in my
head I heard Johnny's voice saying "whoa momma". The word "whoa" sounded like
"wow" so at first I said, "wow momma". No, that's not right, I thought to myself, let me
try adding more "o" to the word. I positioned and repositioned some sounds in my head.
I imagined Johnny Bravos words becoming mine. Whoa momma, I said. I took a
deep breath and mouthed the word like Johnny again. Whoa momma, I said. It
sounded perfect. I said it just like Johnny.
Now, to many that may not sound as impressive as inventing a rocket ship, but to
me, it was one of my few crowning achievements as a child. If I can figure out how to
say a phrase by just experimenting with sounds, I can say entire sentences, maybe even
multiple sentences! It was after that moment when I started mimicking actual dialogue
from multiple cartoons like Spongebob Squarepants, Camp Lazlo, Pokmon, Blues Clues,
Dexters Laboratory, everything! A few months pass and sooner or later I spoke semifluent English, accompanied by a developing American accent.
A month or two later I learned how to read and write in English. Mrs. Lepselter,
the nicest elementary school teacher, was my guide. During reading time, she would pick
out a book from her colorful bookshelf and surprise us with a new story every day. My
favorite story was "Green Eggs and Ham" by Dr. Seuss. I remember asking her if I could
borrow the book to read for myself during recess. I remember looking at the words and
sounding out each individual letter. I remember wondering if green eggs and ham tastes

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like regular eggs and ham. I remember wondering if they tasted better. In no time I
began to read words fluently. Gradually the words turned into sentences, and then the
sentences turned into paragraphs. The feeling of pride took over as I read from page to
page reading those words. I was so focused on this new ability that my naive self took
this special gift for granted. It all just happened so fast like a giant explosion.
Even though I was overjoyed with the fact that I learned how to speak, read, and
write in a new language, fear played a roll in my emotions. Under that blanket of
developing knowledge lied the fear of losing my first language, Tagalog. To some it's
any other language, but to me it meant something important. Tagalog is my blood and
body. It is the soil of the land I played on when I was five. Tagalog is the memories I
kept dearly of the family I had back home. Tagalog felt like it was a part of my soul. I
didn't take this fear lightly like the monster under my bed. Losing my native language
felt like I was losing my soul. I have spent most of my life living in America and the idea
of losing my language, my culture, my heritage, and my soul, always held a special place
my mind. It even convinced me for a while that English felt like a curse and a gift at the
same time.
I never thought that learning a language would put such a toll on a person. The
intense immersion of this new culture blinded me of my true heritage. Whether if it's
watching cartoons on a Saturday morning or reading a book about green ham and green
eggs, that innate fear always resided. On a brighter note that fear molded me as a person.
It made me vigilant and aware. This awareness shed light to the capabilities of my mind.
It gave me meaning, it game me purpose and most of all, it gave me hope.