The influences of the English language on other world languages are many and varied. It seems to seep its way into other languages, including Dutch, in a lot of surprising and unexpected ways -- though really it makes sense, given the geo-political climate of the last couple of centuries.

But did you know that the Dutch language has also left its distinct marks on the English language through the years?

It never really occurred to me, of course, until I picked up Dutch as my second language; however, I believe there are several distinct vestigial traces of Dutch in contemporary English phraseology. Take, for instance, the word "Boss." Did you know that no other language had developed a word for a person in a position of authority, which could also be used as a form of address, until the Dutch came up with the word "Baas?" It seems so natural now; but if it weren't for the Dutch, we'd probably all be referring to our bosses as "Sir", or "Madam," or "my supervisor" instead of using the handy, efficient, somewhat informal word "boss" -- which can be used both as a descriptive noun (i.e. "This is my boss, Joe") and as a direct form of address (i.e. "Hiya, Boss, do you think you could sign these forms for me?"). We have the Dutch to thank for this linguistic legacy.

Another phrase that I've often wondered about (though I don't have any real etymological research to back me up on this one) is the phrase: "That may well be," or "That may very well be true." Think about that from the vantage point of the English language, would you? What does that word "well" actually mean? It's not being used in the classic sense meaning "in a good and satisfactory manner" (i.e. "business is going well"). Is it? I don't think so. Actually, in this sentence construction, it seems that the word "well" is being used more as an affirmative intensifier. Just like the Dutch use the word "wel." The phrase "That may well be" is something of an anomaly in the English language -- but in Dutch, "Dat zou wel waar kunnen zijn" is totally in keeping with the way that the word "wel" is used in other contexts: to affirm and accentuate something that is true. A bit like the English word "really," but then again not so much. It's a unique construction of the Dutch language. And I believe that it's somehow managed to survive in the English language through the years.

I think I could also make a case for words like "young'un" or "Yankees" -- and of course many other proper names (particularly from New York) like "Brooklyn," "Staten Island," and "Harlem." All of these words, I believe (and probably many others), have their roots in the Dutch language. It's pretty remarkable for a language with only about 20 million speakers worldwide, whose hey-day was 400 years ago.

In view of the evidence, I think we English-speakers may well need to pay some respect the bosses of employment terminology etymology: the Dutch.

Whenever I travel back to the United States of America, now, I find myself picking up on cultural curiosities that had previously gone unnoticed. On my most recent trip back to the United States (for my grandmother's funeral), I was particularly struck by the use of the abbreviation "St."

Have you ever noticed how inconsistent Americans can be with this two-letter combination? Particularly on road signs, "St" can sometimes mean "State," sometimes "Street," and sometimes "Saint." You could conceivably write out short-hand directions to the capitol building in downtown Saint Paul, Minnesota, by saying "Take Rice St to the St Capitol in St Paul." That is: "Take Rice St(reet) to the St(ate) Capitol in S(ain)t Paul." Weird, huh

It's also interesting to see how thoroughfares, in general, are abbreviated. Sometimes, you take the first two or three letters: Street = "St" or Avenue = "Ave." But at other times, you take the first letter and the last letter: Road = "Rd" (or perhaps "St," depending on how you look at it). And then at other times, you can take a few of the most notable consonants from the word: Boulevard = "Blvd" or Lane = "Ln." Why do we do abbreviations like this? I don't know. But it's interesting to observe.

Last names are funny, aren't they? They usually seem quite nonsensical -- just a happenstance combination of random sounds, to make a distinct family identity. At least this is the way that I grew up thinking about last names in the United States of America. Sure, there's a subconscious recognition that the last names actually mean something. The last names Smith, Miller, and Baker, for instance, were common ones in the part of the world where I grew up -- and it makes sense that, ancestrally-speaking, Smiths were metal-workers; Millers worked in the grain mills; and Bakers worked in bakeries.  But the economic system has changed so much since the days of family trades and apprenticeships that these names have become disconnected from their original meaning. And the disconnect is further enhanced, I imagine, by all the different cultural and linguistic backgrounds (not just Anglo-Saxon families like Smith and Miller and Baker) that have settled in North America.

But moving to a different country -- with a different language -- helps to reconnect the dots in surprising and amusing ways. I often find myself reading the names of people like sentences -- subconsciously translating everything into English -- even though Dutch people themselves probably don't make the association, in the same way that I never did with Smith or Miller or Baker.

So I think about my friends Jurren the Great... or Jannie of the Helmet... or Marco Peacocks... or Frank Windowshop...

Or when I hear about Dutch sports stars, my mind cannot help but translate their names into Frank the Farmer... or Demy the Guy-from-Zeeland... or Maarten Prickly-Mountain... or Rafael of the Fart (actually, the Dutch "Vaart" should be translated "Voyage" -- but my English ears can hardly avoid the obvious association with the English word "Fart," which is pronounced very similarly).

Funny, huh? Do you ever notice this kind of thing? If so, what are some funny or interesting names that have stood out to you?

I so, so sympathize with people who have to learn English as a second (or third or fourth) language.

I can relate in part because I've had to learn a other languages myself (though I don't believe that Dutch is as technically complex as English) -- but lately I've been noticing how hard it is even for people who have to learn English as their first language! My children, of course, are the primary example that comes to my mind.

Our three-year-old, Cor, is starting to grasp the concept of the singular and the plural. Most of the time, you just add an "s" to any singular word to make it plural -- or, vice versa, you take away the "s" from any plural word to make it singular. But when Cor asks for a "Kleeneck" (instead of a Kleenex), he's greeted with laughs. Or when he wants to have one more bowl of Energy Mix cereal and asks for a bowl of "Energy Mick," he's corrected. He's following the logic, but the logic leads him nowhere! Fortunately, being three, he doesn't care and just keeps learning by trial and error. But it shows me how challenging the language acquisition process can be.

Even with my almost-nine-year-old, Elliot, the language acquisition process can be challenging. This morning, he was reading me some statistics from a magazine, and he relayed the information to me that NBA basketball star Kevin Durant has a wing-span of "seven-dot-five" feet. I told him that usually such a figure would be spoken out as "seven-point-five." But seriously: How ludicrous is it that a "." in internet lexicography is pronounced "dot," while a "."  in numerical scenarios is spoken out as "point" (nevermind the fact that it can also be pronounced "period" in other situations!)?!? The complexity of language in things like this is astounding. Elliot has a good feel for language -- speaking two of them quite fluently, and even beyond his age level -- but still, he hasn't been able to figure out these intricacies after nine years of dedicated, ground-level study! Crazy, isn't it?

It's crazy, but it's cool. Languistics fascinate me.

I was talking with my friend Marc this afternoon about formal titles.  It was fascinating to learn of some of the intricacies of the Dutch language.  For instance, the most proper for of address for a mayor in the Netherlands is De hoogedelgestrenge heer.  Thus, if addressing an official letter to Amsterdam's mayor Job Cohen, you'd address it to "De hoogedelgestrenge heer Cohen."  Literally translated, that means "the highly-noble-very-stern Mr. Cohen."  Isn't that awesome?!?!?  The principal of the high school (let's pretend this one is a woman) would be "De weledelgestrenge vrouwe __________" -- "the definitely-noble-yet-stern Ms. ___________."  Seeing that I serve as the leader of a church community (which tends more towards the Protestant end of the spectrum than the Catholic), it may not be too far-fetched to think that I could be addressed as "De weleerwaarde heer/vrouwe Dominee Asp" -- "The Definitely-Honorable Mister-Reverend Asp."  Sounds kind of nice, huh? :-)  You can find a specific title for just about any role in society on the Wikipedia page about "Aanspreekvorm."

Then I found out about the English equivalents.

To my surprise, there were almost two times as many forms of official "honorifics" in the English language!  Most of us probably know that the President of the United States is officially addressed as "Mr. President."  Or that a judge is typically called "The Honorable Judge __________" (addressed as "Your honor" in a court-room setting).  But did you know that there's also a special form of address for the King of Hungary ("His Apostolic Majesty")?  Or that a bishop in the Church of England should be addressed as "The Right Reverend and Right Honourable _________?"  Crazy stuff, isn't it?  In case you're interested, you can also find more information about English honorifics on the Wikipedia page about "Manner of Address."

I love this kind of stuff in theory.  I hate this kind of stuff in practice.  Good thing almost everyone I know is content to simply call me "Eric."  But if you really wanted to try out "De weleerwaarde heer Dominee Asp," well... I'd be willing to give it a try. :-)