We’ve followed the One Parent, One Language (OPOL) approach since the day my son was born. He understands everything I say. We read books in Dutch, visit family in Belgium, and Dutch has always been part of our home.

But if you asked him to speak Dutch? You’d probably get a smile, a shrug, or the occasional word. Maybe a short phrase if I was lucky.

Like many parents raising bilingual children with a minority language, I found myself wondering: Am I doing something wrong? Then something unexpected happened.

A few weeks ago, we were staying at a friend’s house in Belgium while they were away, looking after their dog, Frank. As we arrived, I casually explained to Arthur that Frank doesn’t understand English. Arthur looked around the room. He looked at Frank. And then, almost instinctively, he started talking to him. In Dutch. Quietly. Naturally. Without me asking. For the first time in a long time, he chose Dutch because it served a purpose.

Understanding isn’t the same as using

As language specialists, we often talk about language input. Children need to hear a language regularly to learn it. But hearing a language is only half of the story. Children also need meaningful reasons to use it.

My son has always understood Dutch. His receptive language is far stronger than his spoken Dutch. That’s actually very common for children growing up with a minority language. The challenge isn’t vocabulary. It’s confidence. It’s habit. It’s identity.

Speaking a language means putting yourself out there. It means risking mistakes. If almost everyone around you speaks the majority language, why switch?

Frank, quite literally, couldn’t understand English. For my son, Dutch suddenly became the only language that worked.

OPOL isn’t always enough

The One Parent, One Language approach is a fantastic starting point, but I’ve realised it’s exactly that. A starting point.

A child can receive thousands of hours of input from one parent and still have very few opportunities to actually need the language. If every conversation can effortlessly switch to English, English wins. Not because the child is rejecting the minority language but because it’s easier. It’s the language of school, friends, television, clubs and everyday life.

Children need communities, not just parents.

So what do we need to change?

Frank taught me something I should probably have known all along. If I want Arthur to speak Dutch more confidently, I need to create more opportunities where Dutch has a real purpose. That means finding Dutch-speaking friends and families. It means organising playdates where Dutch is the shared language. It means encouraging conversations with relatives that aren’t filtered through me. It means spending time in environments where Dutch isn’t “Mum’s language” but everyone’s language. Most importantly, it means taking the pressure off. I’m not looking for perfect grammar or long conversations, but for small, authentic moments where Dutch feels useful, enjoyable and natural.

It’s never too late

Parents often worry that they’ve “missed the window” if their child understands but doesn’t speak much. I don’t think that’s true. My son reminded me that the language is still there. It hasn’t disappeared. It just needs opportunities to come out.
Sometimes all it takes is a dog who doesn’t understand English. And perhaps that’s the biggest lesson of all. Raising a bilingual child isn’t just about providing language input. It’s about creating a life in which that language belongs.
That’s the part I’m working on next.