Spanish: A gift of language

I've been thinking a lot lately about my relationship with Spanish, and realize there are a few key unexpected moments that had such a profound impact on my life…and on people I help…..

First, there was an Easter basket. I like to giggle that Jewish Easter baskets are filled with books— but it isn’t a real joke in my family. It’s a reality. When I was in 7th grade, the Easter Bunny (aka Mom, Barbara Bengels) gave me a copy of a 1950s or 1960s Spanish textbook, El Camino Real. It had every stereotype in the world— la criada, el burro, and more. But I could read it and teach myself a language.

Second, there was a photo. You know how there are memories that you probably don’t remember for real, but you remember because you have a photo and a family story? It was one of those photos. In it, there are a few “big kids” in a Mexican playground, and little 3-year-old me, replete with the Medusa hair pulled up into a whale spout of a pony tail. I didn’t speak their language and they didn’t speak mine, but they let me play on the tire swing with them when I was little. Middle school was a lonely time, and stumbling upon that photo gave me a feeling that was the opposite of loneliness— connectedness, perhaps? I realized that I wanted to be able to use the language to speak with real people.

Then there was the Guidance Snafu. (An aside— last week, Mom asked me if I knew the etymology of Snafu, and so I told her that I knew it, of course: situation normal, all f-Ed up. She told me it was from the Second World War and wondered why I knew it since it was from that time period. I had to point out to her that I’m a Holocaust scholar… we laughed a lot.)

Anyway, I digress. There was the Guidance Snafu. I had tried to switch out of a French class into a Spanish class in 8th grade (that was the first year of foreign languages at school when I was a kid.) All the paperwork was in place, but the Guidance Counselor hadn’t conferred with the Spanish teacher. It was so embarrassing! I had already signed out of the French class when the Spanish teacher told me that her class was overloaded and so I would have to return to French. It was humiliating! However, if it weren’t for that moment, I might not have learned both languages.

Then there was Mr. Levine. He was a kind soul, the head of the World Languages program at the high school. He allowed me to skip into Spanish 2H, since I had a strong background in languages but also a reputation for being a scholar. However, it was on the condition that I continue French. It would have been so easy for me just to swap out one language with another, but his making it harder for me actually enabled my multilingualism.

Then there was a Terrifying Day and a Surprise Visitor. On the day I switched into Spanish class in ninth grade, I knew I had cut off more than I could chew. In English class that day, I had learned the term “hubris” and it was all too apparent that I was guilty of hubris in assuming I could teach myself all of 1H. I came home from school and was sure I needed to drop out of Spanish. But just by chance, my Mom’s childhood friend, Tía Barbara, was visiting from Mexico that day. She hadn’t been here for years but that afternoon she was in my living room. She gave me the pep talk and confidence I needed. I am forever grateful. (And today is her birthday!)

Next, there was an amazing teacher: Rosemarie Pantin. It turns out that the class was actually just the right challenge for me. At first, I didn’t speak at all (I was painfully shy prior to medication)… and she let me grow comfortable for a few weeks before pulling me aside and letting me know that after Thanksgiving, she would expect me to participate. I grew so much from her classes. In 9th and 10th grades, I learned enough from her to take the AP exam in 11th grade. I visited her every day at the end of the school day in 12th grade, but really only had three years of instruction. In that time, with just her as a teacher, I learned more than in my whole Bryn Mawr Spanish major class work.

Next, there was a “deal.” I was growing more and more disdainful of French class. It was taught much more traditionally and I was dying of boredom. Rosemarie told me to stick it out, that I would be grateful someday to be fluent in several languages. Then she made the deal with me: if I had Ellen Solomon for a teacher in tenth grade, I would have to continue French. If not, I could let it go. Well, Ellen got me to love French and we are still close to this day. She helped me get past my shyness and not be afraid to seek emotional support, too. When I was writing my dissertation, she was one of my first readers. And, needless to say, I needed both Spanish and French for my doctorate— along with German, Hebrew, Portuguese, and Yiddish.

Yes, then there was the lost boy in the Dunkin Donuts. On Saturdays, I used to go to music school in the city. I would walk across the street from the music hall to have lunch— chicken salad on a croissant. One day, there was a little three-year old boy who was lost in the store. He was crying, and spoke no English. I was able to help him out by using Spanish. That was the day I realized that my gift for languages wasn’t just breaking codes— it was also a tool for service.

My love for Spanish only grew more and more over time. There was the different definitions of “youth orchestra” that made me super young when taking part in an international youth orchestra event in Spain. The US definition of youth orchestra is generally middle or high school— in Europe, however, it is more likely to be people in their early 20s. I felt out of place on the trip….and was pulled to watching children playing outside. My roommate dropped my room key into the garden where children were playing so I could have an excuse to go join them. We played outside a whole afternoon and for years afterward, I still had penpals from Murcia. This gave me so much confidence. I remember realizing how much of my language learning had been incidental knowledge. For example, I don’t think I was ever formally taught the word “silbar” (to whistle) but I knew what it meant. The mind is amazing!

Each of these events led me deeper into the world or this language…. And French. Now I find myself translating and helping refugees on a daily basis. I am aware that so many little moments of chance and luck led me to have this tool and gift that has served me well and that helps me to be of service.

I am so lucky and so grateful for the connections I’ve made through languages!