Over the past couple of years, I have enumerated many reasons why it's a good idea to learn Spanish if you are going to live here. Not knowing Spanish can make life here pretty inconvenient. Chuck and I have a fairly good command of basic needs Spanish. We both picked it up pretty fast when we first moved here and have felt pretty good about our progress. We can now make polite small talk.
It's kind of a point of pride that we are essentially self-taught. We have picked up our Spanish by just going out and talking to people. I am pretty unafraid of making a fool of myself, and so far, no one has laughed at me when I have blundered. There has been laughter, yes, but friendly "with me" laughter, you know what I mean? And I was really pleased when I got to the point of being able to talk in full, grammatically-correct sentences instead of the caveman-like "I go store" and "I want check".
The willingness to just go out and talk put me far ahead of my other foreign-born friends here, until they went out and took classes. Now I am like a three-year-old, and they are able to speak in complex sentences in the past perfect tense. But I was still okay with it. You know, the pride thing and all. Until yesterday.
Midmorning, my eighteen-year-old neighbor, Cecilia, appeared at my gate, bent over, struggling to breathe, and begging me to drive her to the Red Cross in my car. Of course I would. I lifted her into the truck and screamed for Chuck. I knew why she wanted to go to the Red Cross. The Red Cross is the place people who can't afford to pay can go and get medical attention. I also knew I had no idea where it was.
Chuck came flying out of the house, still in his slippers and flannel pajama pants and opened the gate while I got the truck started. Cecilia's grandmother appeared and asked if she could go too. Of course she could. She climbed into the back seat and I pulled out of the garage. Chuck closed the gate and hopped in next to Abuela.
I turned and asked where we were going – and didn't understand a single word of the answer. We were reduced to corner by corner directions, and I was grateful to my friend Juan, who made sure I knew words like izquierdo, derrecho, derrecha, and cuadra (left, right, straight, block). I was driving through town, carefully keeping my panic in check, trying to keep up with the izquierdos and derrechos, urgently wanting to go faster, but fearful of causing a delay by missing a critical turn.
I kept glancing over at Cecilia to see how she was doing. Her eyes were turning glassy. I kept slapping her arms and face to get a response from her. I was driving like an idiot and praying I would be pulled over by a police officer so he could lead me where I so desperately needed to go. Then, Cecilia didn't respond to my slaps. After what seemed like forever, she blinked.
We finally got to the red cross. The whole drive took less than 8 minutes, but it felt like hours. It felt like too late. We got her inside and they took her immediately into the emergency room and shut us out. Chuck and I were left to wait and worry. We couldn't ask how she was doing because we couldn't understand the answer.
While we waited, I discovered that, oddly enough, there are no convenience stores or restaurants near the Red Cross, which is strange. Those things always abound near places where people have to wait. Chuck discovered that he was still in his slippers and pajama bottoms, and felt a little weird.
Eventually, Cecilia and Abuela came out. Cecilia looked perfectly healthy and smiled dazzlingly, as always. Chuck and I were so relieved we needed a nap.
note from jennifer: this paragraph has been removed because it contained information I have since learned is not correct.
We arrived back home safely. Abuela and Cecilia were all smiles. They kept saying "gracias, gracias". I smiled and returned the proper "por nada", but I kept thinking Cecilia almost died because of my pride. I think it may be time to get some lessons.
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|SAdministrator |m-d-Y H:i:s jennifer - LessonsThanks Nancy. I was so scared that day. I thought at one point she had died there in the car.
I have heard great things about Hector, and if your progress is any indication, he is the man to go to. You're Spanish has gotten so good! Unfortunately, I don't have the time that is really needed to get the most from Hector's class. I know from reading your blog that the homework can be pretty intense, although worth it. I think I need a lighter class load.
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I recommend you call Hector Marquez 669-985-3363.
Nancy