Lost in Translation(By Eva Hoffman)

"In Poland , I would have known how to bring you up , I would have known what to do," my mother says wistfully , but here , she has lost her sureness , her authority . She doesn't know how hard to scold Alinka when she comes home at late hours ; she can only worry over her daughter's vague evening activities . She has always been gentle with us , and she doesn't want , doesn't know how , to tighten the reins . But familial bonds seem so dangerously loose here!

  Truth to tell , I don't want the fabric of loyalty and affection , and even obligation , to unravel either . I don't want to defend our dignity because it is so fragile , so beleaguered . There is only the tiny cluster , the four of us , to know , to preserve whatever fund of human experience we may represent . And so I feel  a kind of ferociousness about protecting it . I don't want us to turn into perpetually cheerful suburbanites , with hygienic smiles and equally hygienic feelings . I want to keep even our sadness , the great sadness from which our parents have come .

  I abjure ,y sister to treat my parents well ; I don't want her to challenge our mother's authority , because it is too easily challenged . It is they whom seem more defendless  to me than Alinka , and I want her to protect them . Alinka fights me like a forest animal in danger of being trapped ; she too wants to roam throughout the thickets and meadows . She too wants to be free .

  My mother says I'm becoming "English." This hurts me ,because I know she means I'm becoming cold . I'm no colder than I've ever been , but I'm learning to be less demonstrative . I learn this from a teacher who ,after contemplating the gesticulations with which I help myself describe the digestive system of a frog , tells me to "sit on my hands and then try talking .": I learn my new reserve from people who take a step back when we talk , because I am standing too close , crowding them . Culture distance are different , I later learn in a sociology class , but I know it already . I learn restraint from Penny , who looks offended when I shake her by the arm in excitement , as if my gesture had been one of aggression instead of friendliness . I learn it from a girl who pulls away when I hook my arm through hers as we walk down the street---this movement of friendly intimacy is an embarrassment to her .

  I learn also that certain kinds of truth are impolite . One shouldn't criticize the person one is with , at least not directly .You shouldn't say ,"You are wrong about that"--although you may say,"On the other hand , there is that to consider." You shouldn't say ,"This doesn't look good on you ," though you may say ," I like you better in that other outfit ." I learn to tone down my sharpness , to do a more careful conversation minuet .

  Perhaps my mother is right after all ; perhaps I'm becoming colder . After a while , emotion follows action , response grows warmer or cooler according to gesture . I'm more careful about what I say , how loud I laugh  ,whether I give vent to grief . The storminess of emotion prevailing in our family id in excess of the normal here , and the unwritten rules for the normal have their osmotic effect .