The REAL Good Spanish

A woman in my Spanish class, an Ex-IBMer who was 20 years with the big blue, proudly hasn't worked in 10. She now teaches gardening classes for children as a volunteer. A beautiful woman who wears nice clothes, not overlly vogue like most of the women who live in Westport, Connecticut.

She tells me that she is jealous of how fast I can speak Spanish when she has studied so much. I have no doubt she studies because she seems like just the type. So I tell her about working with the Mexicans who are dishwashers at my rowing club, about how I swap them lessons in Spanish for lessons in English.

She wrinkles her face. She's trying to remain nice, but she cannot figure out how to stay on nice terms. She stutters.

"So, HOW would you know if they are teaching you, ah, ah, good Spanish." I look at her with total curiosity. She continues, "I mean, here at Berlitz I think they give you real Spanish. They make sure of it."

So I say to her, without trying to be the least bit cruel, "And how would you know if you are learning REAL GOOD Spanish or not?"

I stop and almost laugh at her. Does she think the Queen of Spain teaches our class? And then I stop again, to wonder. Her question is so absurd that I am not sure what to think. I am here to learn Spanish. The real Spanish that people speak who live in Central and South America.

She continues on, feeling embarrassed by her questioning. "I suppose I could speak to the Mexicans who cut my grass. But I do not think we would have much to talk about. I mean, about my grass?"

I try to be encouraging and say, "Oh, I am sure they would be so excited to try and speak to you in Spanish. You might find out that they are not Mexicans. And who knows what they did back home. You would be amazed."

As I leave class, I wonder if the Mexicans I work with sit around and discuss the type of English I am teaching them. And then I pause. I doubt it. Between the 3-4 jobs they each have, I doubt they have time to worry about their accents. Besides, WHAT IS REAL ENGLISH? Certainly, with a name like Linda English, I MUST be the real deal, the one who speaks the REAL GOOD English.

And then a thought of Ms Westport fully amuses me. I remember how she told me that last semester her Spanish instructor was from Italy. And that makes me laugh all the way home.


By Linda English