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.

Sometimes Dutch medical terminology can be comically literal.

The Dutch terms for "concussion" and "testicles" are particularly amusing to me. Literally: "brain-shake" (hersenschudding) and "seed-balls" (zaadballen). Is that funny to anyone else? I'm curious to know if there are any other good ones that I might be forgetting...

According to Google, I am considered one of the world's foremost experts on precipitation terminology. Nevermind the fact that I don't have a background in meteorology or linguistics. I posted something here on my website a couple of years back, entitled "Eleven Words for Rain," and that apparently qualifies me as an expert. Seriously, for whatever reason, this has become one of the more well-worn paths from Google to my website -- precipitation terminology seekers... and appeltaart afficionados!

Anyway, despite my apparent expertise in the field, I really don't know what to make of the precipitation that's been falling from Amsterdam's skies over the last two days.

One might be inclined to call it hail... but then again, it's too small, not round enough, and too regular to really classify as hail in my mind.

One might be inclined to call it snow... but then again, it's too hard and too heavy for snow. I certainly don't feel like we're having our first snowfall of the year these days.

Another option would be to call it sleet or freezing rain... but it actually seems like an inverted version of sleet to me. The stuff that we're getting these days is solid in the air and immediately upon impact, but then it quickly melts into nothingness -- unlike sleet which comes down more liquid and then turns to ice once it's on the ground.

So what's the best word for the stuff we've been getting lately? Is there a Dutch word for it that I might not know about? Is there an English word, outside of the generic Weather-Channelish "wintry mix?" Whatever it is, I have to confess that it's not my favorite type of precipitation. But in any event, it makes it feel like we're legitimately in the holiday season. And as long as I can stay inside and sip hot buttered rum in the evenings, I think everything will turn out just fine.

My kids asked me to teach them some French, as we were cleaning up from dinner. We were day-dreaming about our upcoming vacation to Normandy, and they knew that I had once studied French in high school and in college -- so they asked me to teach them a few phrases.

I paused for a second and then spoke: "Bon soir. Je m'apelle Eric. Je suis de Ohio. Je viens a l'école en bus." And, well, if I do say so myself, my pronunciation was trés authentique. But then, just as quickly as I had started, I stopped with the French and returned to the dishes that I was loading into the dishwasher.

"What did you say? What did you say?" my kids asked.

"Aw, nothing really," I said. "I forget a lot of the French I used to be able to speak." I was embarrassed, actually, by just how much I had forgotten. The loss was almost total. Every French word I tried to recall was covered up by a Dutch word. It was as if all of my "Language Bucket" had been filled with English and Dutch at the top of the bucket -- all of which were much more accessible -- and just a few dregs of French remained at the bottom of the bucket. After three years of French in high school and two semesters of French in college, I used to have a pretty decent handle on the language. But now I totally don't. In fact, it seems that the only French I can remember is from the first year of high school French with Mademoiselle Shell.

"Dad, what did you say?" my kids persisted.

"Umm... Well, I said... 'Good evening. My name is Eric. I come from Ohio. I come to school by bus.' And I'm afraid that's about the best I can do for you right now."

Have you ever heard the song, "Who Let the Dogs Out?" by the Baha Men? It was annoying when it came out in 2000 -- and it's become iconically-annoying in the decade since.

Well, imagine that song filtered through the annoyance of the Literal-Translation Game: translating from English to Dutch on the fly, without much thought for cadence and syncopation, without much thought for the peculiarities of syntax and figurative language, without any concerns regarding the number of syllables to be crammed into any particular line of the song. It's a fun game for foreigners to play (I admit that I am a regular participant in this activity); but it's also pretty darn annoying for anyone else who has to listen to it. And it's especially annoying for anyone to listen to the Literal-Translation version of the Baha Men's "Who Let the Dogs Out?" -- or perhaps I should say "Wie laat de honden los?"

And now, imagine this scenario specifically involving a group of nine-year-old boys -- singing the song together any time that the word "dog" is mentioned in their school classroom, any time they go out onto the school playground, or any time that they feel like it on a school field trip or a moment of boredom. That's taking the annoyance to a whole new level. It sounds almost unbearable. Almost impossible.

Yet in talking with Elliot yesterday, I learned that this scenario is not only possible. It's practical reality. It's happening in Elliot's class at school. And my son is one of the main perpetrators of this phenomenon, conspiring with two other boys in the class to bust into "Wie laat de honden los?" whenever the moment arises. Unthinkably annoying, isn't it? Yet believe it or not, I'm actually entertained by the thought. He must be a chip off the old block -- or perhaps I should say, "een stukje vanaf het oude blok" -- after all.