How do we help language become a living part of their identity, rather than another subject in school?
Years ago, when I started teaching first graders at St. Anthony Vietnamese Language School, something stayed with me. I sat in a classroom full of Vietnamese faces, watching many of them struggle with Vietnamese. The struggle did not come from their learning ability, but because of the hesitation, the fear of making mistakes, and sometimes the simple question of why they were learning it at all.
Their parents enrolled them for many different reasons. Some wanted their children to speak with the grandparents. Some wanted them to stay connected to their roots. Others didn’t want the language to disappear within a generation. However, not every child understood why they were there.
Living far from our homeland, it is easy for heritage language to slowly fade into the background. Life gets busy. English becomes the language of school, work, friendships, and even religion practice. Little by little, it often becomes the language of home, too. By the time many families realize what has been lost, rebuilding that connection can feel difficult.
Weekend language schools play an important role in preserving heritage languages. They provide structure, resources, and a community of learners. But as a teacher, I learned something important: Schools cannot do this work alone.
Children may spend a few hours each week in a classroom, but language grows through daily use. It grows through conversations at the dinner table, stories before bed, family gatherings, songs, jokes, traditions, and shared experiences. Many of my students preferred English in class. That wasn’t because they didn’t value Vietnamese. Often, they simply had few opportunities to use it outside of school. And that was one of the biggest puzzles of heritage education:
How do we make heritage language engaging enough that children want to use it, not just study it?
How do we help language become a living part of their identity rather than another subject in school?
Because heritage language is about more than words. Children connect with family stories, cultural traditions, community, and a deeper understanding of who they are through language.
Today, I find myself carrying those same questions into my own family. I’m no longer teaching first graders on the weekends but I’m a full-time heritage educator to my two children. So, I ask myself:
How can I make Vietnamese feel meaningful to them?
How can I pass down pride, not pressure?
How can I teach them to read and write the language that connects them to one side of their heritage?
What helps our heritage language take root and stay strong?
Some answers are taking shape through our daily routines. Others I am still searching for. This blog is where I explore those questions. Not as an expert with all the answers, but as a teacher, a mother, and a heritage language learner alongside my children. Because heritage education is not the work of parents alone, and it is not the work of schools alone. It takes both. And perhaps the most important work happens in the ordinary moments between them.
