My parents split their duties into the English / linguistics part (taught to me by my father) and Russian / math (taught by my mother). Unlike my father, my mother had to work Saturdays, so I lagged somewhat in the skills she was responsible for, especially the cursive writing in Russian that I picked up significantly later than the English cursive.
By the time I was to start school at the age of 7, I had already become exposed to the idea that having to learn Ukrainian would be an intolerable burden and ultimate unfairness. For the life of me, I can’t remember where I got this from (this was obviously not coming from anybody inside my family) but I recall approaching my father with, “Can you believe that I will have to take Ukrainian in school??? This is ridiculous! I don’t know Ukrainian!”
“Ah, don’t be silly,” my father said. “Of course, you know it. It’s your language, so you know it already. Here, take this book in Ukrainian, read it, and write a 3-page essay on what it is about.”
“In Russian?” I asked.
“No, in Ukrainian.” Then he paused and added for good measure, “And then translate it into English.”
And that was how I became tri-lingual.
Clarissa's Blog 
Leave a comment