I didn’t really understand at first why it was such a big deal. It was just a language that nobody used anymore. Well, virtually nobody. Nobody I knew under the age of fifty anyway. For all intents and purposely it wasn’t just a dying language, it was on life support.

I took a deep breath that ended up being closer to a sigh and looked down at the dusty old book and the two pages of hand scribbled notes my grandfather had given me to study.

“For grandpa…” I started, before correcting myself. “Do piduwaşaẃun…” I started again, repeating it over and over to myself in hopes of ingraining it into my brain.

I thought it would be easier when I originally told him that I’d learn the language from the old country. I’d grown up hearing him and grandma speak it to each other, to my mother, to their friends that had come over on the boat too. I figured that on some subconscious level that I had to have picked up some of it without trying to. Boy, was I wrong.

I sighed again.

“Do piduwaşaẃun…” I said.