Estoy Con Stupido
By the time I finished high school I was fluent in Spanish. To my 17-year-old mind that meant I didn't have to study Spanish another day for the rest of my life. My 30-something mind wishes I would've taken more Spanish classes.
Now that Sam is in a Spanish program at school I find myself reading, writing and speaking beginner Spanish again. Maybe as he learns it, I'll re-learn it. My reluctance with speaking Spanish (or any foreign language really) is the same as my reluctance about learning golf. There's no real way to practice - you just have to jump in and hope for the best, knowing there will be stumbles along the way. Even when I could speak, read and understand Spanish I rarely spoke it in public. I'm not fond of voluntarily making a fool of myself.
Shortly after Bryon and I married we took a trip to Costa Rica and one night, after a few cocktails, I tried to talk to the cab driver. At one point he was giggling hysterically and I, after replaying the conversation, realized I'd been referring to Bryon as my wife the entire time.
Fast forward to today. Much of our remodel has been done by Spanish-speaking electricians, plumbers, painters and cabinet makers. I have tried speaking to them in English but most of our conversations consist of me yelling and gesturing and them smiling and nodding. As we neared the end of the remodel I really wanted to tell them how great their work has been. So, today, after they finished all the cabinets and took down all the paper and tape that had covered the kitchen, I thought I would try to express my thanks - in Spanish.
All I wanted to say was "the kitchen is beautiful and I love it." I thought I could handle that much. But the contractor looked really uncomfortable and eager to end our conversation.
That's probably because in my anxiety and inexperience I told him, "The kitchen is beautiful. I love you."
Now that Sam is in a Spanish program at school I find myself reading, writing and speaking beginner Spanish again. Maybe as he learns it, I'll re-learn it. My reluctance with speaking Spanish (or any foreign language really) is the same as my reluctance about learning golf. There's no real way to practice - you just have to jump in and hope for the best, knowing there will be stumbles along the way. Even when I could speak, read and understand Spanish I rarely spoke it in public. I'm not fond of voluntarily making a fool of myself.
Shortly after Bryon and I married we took a trip to Costa Rica and one night, after a few cocktails, I tried to talk to the cab driver. At one point he was giggling hysterically and I, after replaying the conversation, realized I'd been referring to Bryon as my wife the entire time.
Fast forward to today. Much of our remodel has been done by Spanish-speaking electricians, plumbers, painters and cabinet makers. I have tried speaking to them in English but most of our conversations consist of me yelling and gesturing and them smiling and nodding. As we neared the end of the remodel I really wanted to tell them how great their work has been. So, today, after they finished all the cabinets and took down all the paper and tape that had covered the kitchen, I thought I would try to express my thanks - in Spanish.
All I wanted to say was "the kitchen is beautiful and I love it." I thought I could handle that much. But the contractor looked really uncomfortable and eager to end our conversation.
That's probably because in my anxiety and inexperience I told him, "The kitchen is beautiful. I love you."
posted by Romine Family at 9:03 PM
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