Between Here and There — What Language Do They Speak Here?

We went through a travel frenzy when our youngest son was little, roughly from the time he was four until he was fourteen, when COVID stopped everything.

When we had five kids, we never had the money to travel. With one child, it suddenly became possible.

He was well-traveled, having been to many places across multiple countries, cultures, and languages. Travel wasn’t extravagant, but it was constant.

One day, we were landing in Illinois to visit family. The plane had touched down, and people were standing in the aisle, waiting to exit. He was six.

He looked out the window, then turned to me and asked, in a clear voice,

“What language do people speak here?”

A few people nearby laughed.

I felt proud.

It was such a good question, the kind that only makes sense if you already understand that cultures change when borders change.

He wasn’t confused.

He was orienting himself.

At six years old, he knew enough to ask instead of assume.

That moment stayed with me, not because it was funny, but because exposure changes what feels normal. It teaches you to pause before deciding who belongs where, or what something is supposed to sound like.

I used to play an icebreaker game with my students, asking them to share something unique about themselves. Sometimes I heard extraordinary things, students who had been to thirty countries, been on milk cartons, or been attacked by a buffalo.

And more than once, a student’s “unique thing” was:

“I’ve never left Utah.”

That always stopped me.

Not because Utah is small, it isn’t, but because it borders six states. National parks are everywhere. Idaho, Nevada, and Wyoming are only a three-hour drive away. Leaving the state doesn’t require a passport or a plane ticket.

And yet, some people never travel.

It’s easy to underestimate how much early experience shapes the questions we think to ask—and how many people never get the chance to ask them at all.

That realization stayed with me, too. It made me want to be intentional about my children’s world. To make sure they didn’t assume it ended at a state line. To teach them that cultures and languages change, but people still share the same needs and hopes.

Because movement isn’t just about distance.

It’s about learning, early and often, that the world is larger than where you happen to be standing.