February was a whirlwind of a month. So was March, seeing it is about to come to a close. After a trip to the States (by which I mean one in particular, Oregon) coming back to Puente Geníl was, again, an adjustment. Two weeks sans speaking Spanish threw a wrench into my bilingual brain. Fortunately, I have now regained my ability to communicate without committing some wacky grammatical error. Last week one of my co-workers, in passing, asked me how the trip was, and if all was well with my family. Instead of saying my parents were very good, I said they were very sexually attractive. We immediately parted ways. I patted myself on the back in consolation.
Additionally, after being welcomed home so warmly in Portland, returning to my "home" of a mere six months left me feeling jilted. Luckily, I got my girl here Fina to look after me and fix me up with a couple glasses of vino when the going gets tough. The weather is nothing short of fantastic, so we can make good on the barbecue we've been planning since January. We have the terrace to ourselves, a prime spot for grilling and getting some sun.
The teachers I work with may be the warmest people I know. I was happy to be back in the staff room, drinking cafe con leches and talking about some such student's heinous behavior, or Clint Eastwood, or plans for summer vacations. I have felt so much support from them after my two week hiatus, from which I jumped right into giving exams.
Giving oral exams to Spanish kids on topics other than their personal habits, and daily routines has proven to be difficult. Somehow, any topic I introduce, be it global warming or Jazz music, is brought back to what time they brushed their teeth this morning and at what time they'll be taking a shower later.
It's frustrating because, for many of these kids, the material we use in the bilingual program is over their heads in terms of content. In Social Studies class, we'll read from the text together, then dissect each sentence down to the last suffix and the most obvious of cognates. It's as if our languages don't share an alphabet. The content of our history book would be appropriate for 14-year-old English speakers, but not for ESL students of the same age. It would be a godsend if the book we used was geared for use in a bilingual classroom.
In other news, I cannot get the 16-year-olds (seniors in high school, if you will) to stop saying 'fuck' in class. "But haven't you heard that song, 'Fuck You?'" This is what they ask me after I've scolded them for the eighth time. Semana Santa (Easter week) is around the corner, which has filled these kids with a national pride so fierce, that they burst out in song and dance (well, clapping) at any given moment. Why? Because they're all Catholic and they all like to get WILD at Easter. It's like we're permanently on the brink of a botellón (for those who don't know, a botellón is a social activity among Spain’s youth, who gather in public areas to consume alcohol as an alternative to going to a bar). I feel like I'm being punished for my years of taunting Mr. Nielsen, the notoriously floundering substitute teacher at my high school. If you're reading, though I'm sure you're not, I'm so sorry, Mr. Nielsen. I'd like to give a shout out to the humbling efforts of teachers who manage not to blush or stumble at the mercy of trouble-making, cat-calling, grey-hair-doling teenagers.
Andalucía is well on its way into Spring. For that I am joyous. But. My grandmother passed away on Tuesday and I wish more than anything that I could be with my family this week. I had hoped that I wouldn't be so far away when this time came. Así es la vida. I am honoring her memory here in Spain, although in my mind I'm in California holding my mother close. To my wonderful grandmother, who I will always remember as the most vivacious woman in the room.
