One of the most frequent and heartfelt questions I receive from mothers just beginning their journey into foreign language education is this: “How can my child narrate in a language they barely know?” It is a worthy question, and one that springs from a place of great care—a mother’s desire not to merely teach a language, but to cultivate the soul of it within her child.
Charlotte Mason taught us that narration is not a mechanical recitation but a living act of the mind. It is the art of telling back, and telling is not dependent on fluent speech, but on attention, on connection, and on giving back what one has truly received. And this, dear reader, holds true even in a new language.
Let us imagine a young child listening to a simple story in Spanish. The words are unfamiliar at first—el gato, la niña, la casa—yet with gestures, pictures, tone, and repetition, the meaning begins to form like mist rising over a morning meadow. At this stage, narration may be no more than pointing to the picture and whispering, gato. That is a beginning. And beginnings should not be despised.
For beginners, narration in a foreign tongue must be gentle, natural, and rooted in joy. Children may mime the action. They may answer in English with a Spanish word or two tucked in. They may retell the story using pictures or reorder printed phrases to match the story’s sequence. And yes, in time, they will say more.
One helpful tool is using simple, repetitive questions to guide narration. Questions like: ¿Quién es? (Who is it?), ¿Qué hace? (What is he/she doing?), or ¿Dónde está? (Where is it?) help students process and express meaning, even as they are still absorbing the language. These questions are like gentle handrails, offering support as children learn to walk on this new linguistic path.
And we have seen it with our own eyes—just this summer, children in our Spanish camps began narrating short stories after only four classes. With joyful confidence, they answered questions, retold scenes, and even changed parts of the story to make it their own. Not perfectly, no—but sincerely, and with that spark of life that tells us something is truly being learned.
We must remember that in the early years of language learning, much of narration is inward. Children are building a treasury of meaning and sound within, long before it overflows into fluent speech. Just as a child listens to countless stories in English before they ever compose one, so too must they be allowed to soak in the living language—hearing stories told with animation, listening to poetry and songs, repeating short lines aloud, and then, gently, being invited to tell back.
Narration for the beginner is not a test, but a gift. It is the child’s opportunity to own what they have heard, however small the portion may seem. When they say la niña canta or el gato duerme, we rejoice—not because they are fluent, but because they are living in the language, however briefly, however humbly.
Let the atmosphere be warm and free of pressure. Let the stories be delightful. Let the child feel the satisfaction of knowing something in a new tongue and giving it back. That is the essence of narration. And that is how it begins—even in a foreign language.