You know, folks, I fancy myself a fairly arrogant SOB. I bristle when called Mr instead of Dr. I ego-surf. My wife says my wedding was a Nick party, with some whassaname chick in the background.
And I thank you both for the unsolicited testimonial. The answer though is no.
I am unusually fluent for a diasporan of the second generation, because I lived in Greece as a child and I have studied the language and literature. But as Greeks I have chatted to can attest (I’m looking at you, Dimitra Triantafyllidou), I have gaps in my vocabulary, and I do think in English. In fact, I remember the switch in my thinking language, after we moved back to Australia.
A longstanding regret I had was that I lack the confidence and cultural fluency to tell a funny story in Greek. It was a proud moment during my honeymoon, when I got drunk enough to tell my relatives the story of how Tamar and I got together.
Meanwhile, the linguistic and cultural fluency in English of my fellow Quorans in Greece is an ongoing source of delight.