My Dream of Raising a Bilingual Child

Big Bear is so proud to be Asian American. She loves the food, her dark hair, and her bright, sparkly brown eyes. She loves celebrating Korean holidays like New Year’s—eating rice cake soup and wearing her beautiful hanbok as she bows to the elders and announces, “Happy New Year.” She even loves the small ways our family stands out in a community that sometimes feels a little too uniform.

But the Asia she knows mostly comes from what she sees around her—Americanized parents, television, and bits of culture that travel across oceans and arrive slightly reshaped.

Sometimes that version of Asia appears in unexpected moments.

Like the day we were at H Mart.

“Hello,” said Big Bear, bowing with her hands together to the cashier, the way one might bow to a Buddhist monk in some faraway country.

“No, Bear. We don’t do that bow,” I said quickly, stopping her, a little embarrassed by the attention.

I feel a quiet sense of guilt when Big Bear cannot say any Korean words at H Mart while the cashier tries to make small conversation with her. I wish, sometimes, that she could carry a conversation with my parents. Their love for each other goes far beyond words, but I still wish they understood each other more.

Before I had kids, I always imagined raising bilingual children. I know firsthand the benefits of speaking more than one language, and I wanted to give that gift to my children.

But when Big Bear was three, we found ourselves navigating speech therapy. That was when I realized something important: bilingualism was my dream for her, not necessarily what Big Bear needed.

It was almost impossible to find a speech therapist in Seattle who spoke Korean. Naturally, Big Bear was exposed to English in therapy because the goal was simple—she needed to learn how to communicate. Communication was what she needed most, not necessarily being a bilingual child.

I also had to accept that America is her home. This is where she will play, learn, and build friendships. As a parent, it was my responsibility to equip her with the tools to live confidently in the world around her. At that time, what mattered most was giving her the ability to communicate.

The speech therapist encouraged us to continue bilingual exposure, saying it would be an everlasting gift. But there was little guidance on how we could realistically support that at home while also helping Big Bear develop her speech.

Has anyone ever tried hiring a Korean-speaking nanny as a working parent? They are in high demand, and they know it. The salary reflects that reality. We simply couldn’t afford to maintain a fully bilingual environment at home.

So we made an executive decision to focus on English for now. Later, when she is older, she can choose to learn Korean—just as millions of students pick up Spanish in middle school or high school.

Sometimes I wonder if I failed at something important. Should I have stayed home? Would that have helped her bilingualism—or her speech therapy?

I know financially we couldn’t afford for me to stay home. But sometimes I still wonder if it would have changed anything.

My parents witnessed every struggle my husband and I went through with Big Bear’s speech therapy and childcare. So while they are a little sad, they also understand. Their favorite granddaughter loves them deeply—and she expresses that love in English.

Love, after all, doesn’t always need translation.