Three-teen is not a number. . .but maybe it should be

Some days things just make sense. Other days I am caught in a whirlwind of information and ideas that seem to defy all ideas of logic that exist in my mind. This reminds me of when I was a child and had to learn my numbers. For some reason one through ten made sense automatically—probably because they were the first ones learned. Then sixteen and up were easy (say the number and add the ending “teen” or say the beginning (twenty, thirty, forty, etc.) and add the number). But whoever decided on the numbers between eleven and fifteen was not a nice person. I mean really, where do eleven and twelve even come from? And then we have thirteen and fifteen which are so close to following the general rule, I start to wonder if someone had a brief lapse of concentration, misspelled them once, and decided to just never fix them. Then there’s poor fourteen who follows the rule but is stuck in the midst of the “irregulars” as I like to call them. I mean if we were going to break the rules we couldn’t have just made it one big streak? The point is though, that learning those numbers was the hardest for me. They are also the hardest for my School on Wheels student. Every time she says three-teen I can’t help but to think to myself “now wouldn’t that make more sense?” Nevertheless, we continue on in our lessons and I secretly find ways to make her practice those problem numbers just a little bit extra. . .just like my mom did for me when I was learning. There is something beautiful about seeing the parallels between two lives and being able to cross into and become a part of someone else’s experiences.

Another thought to keep in mind is that pan in Spanish means bread and cacerola means pan. So while I do enjoy the reciprocity of this statement, it can be confusing when trying to master the art of teaching/speaking/learning a new language. Another example is that grampas means staples, not your mom’s (or dad’s) dad. This was one that I learned when the staple sort function did not work on the copier in the office. No worries though, because a wonderful repair man came and fixed it. I now have massive amounts of free time on my hands due to the lack of a need for manual sorting and stapling. Ok that last sentence is a lie. But again, it’s that whole making sense in my mind thing. We have the same words in different languages but they have different meanings. You would have thought that someone would have collaborated a little better somewhere along the communication line. But that’s the thing with communication; everyone has their own style. We say things that make sense to us (and maybe us and no one else). It is an art to express ourselves in ways that translate correctly to others, and to translate what others are expressing into something that makes sense to us.

In Immokalee I have the opportunity to add a level of translation to my life through continuing my quest to speak Spanish fluently, or shall we say in a way that makes sense to me and to others. Some days it is a struggle to express myself or understand the sentiments of other people in Spanish. It is something that is getting easier with time and I am grateful to be in this setting that allows me to push myself to continue learning and making sense of things.

And the next time something doesn’t make sense to me, I’ll just take a cue from my student and come up with my own solution. Three-teen sounds pretty good to me.

Peace Out

Love,

Babs