#47 — just get them to talk

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1075

Abstract

going to pass out from the nasty smell of the grease marker. <i>Whatever happened to chalkboards?</i></p><p id="9154">How’d I get this job to teach English to 40 Spanish-speaking adults?<i> I had been (when our kids were little) a neighbor of the head of the Adult Basic Education Department at Western Nevada College, that’s how. I’d taken a refresher course in Spanish at the college earlier that year with an instructor from Argentina. She suggested I volunteer at the summer classes of “English as a Second Language”.</i></p><p id="0f66"><i>The best advice I had from a teacher at that time was, “<b>just get them to talk.</b>”</i></p><p id="9689"><i>I’d had so much fun, at the end of the semester, I called the office and blathered away about wanting to teach, not realizing who had answered the phone. “I think I know you,” she said. Our children had spent a few years together in the old neighborhood.</i></p><p id="1739">truth<b>↑</b></p><p id="2a49">fiction<b>↓</b></p><p id="f686">Me llamo Ana Maria Martinez. Soy de Escondildo, California. Mi madre es de Glenrothe

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s, Scotland. Mi padre es de Oaxaca, Oaxaca. Estoy la meastra de Ingles para este classe. Hablo Ingles, Español y Martian. Bienvenidos a Calzoncillos.</p><p id="4605">My name is Ana Maria Martinez. I’m from Escondildo, California. My mother is from Glenrothes, Scotland. My father is from Oaxaca, Oaxaca. I am the English teacher for this class. I speak English, Spanish and Martian. Welcome to underpants. (aka, carson city)</p><div id="c15b" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/would-you-like-to-be-part-of-medium-history-4eea6bac3e4e"> <div> <div> <h2>Would You like to Be Part of Medium History?</h2> <div><h3>100 Stories by 100 Writers — Vision and submission guidelines</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*UqVK0ah9ogZ1GAYSg_YWvA.png)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

for smillew’s 100/100/100 monument.

I turn away from the grease board where I’ve picked a purple marker to print:

hello, my name is

I am from

and a line from “Wooden Ships” by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young.

“If you smile at me, I will understand, because that is something everybody everywhere does in the same language.”

In spite of their smiles, as they lower themselves into chairs at tables arranged in islands, in a classroom that is for second graders — the only room available at the time — I am so fuckin’ nervous. I feel like I’m going to pass out from the nasty smell of the grease marker. Whatever happened to chalkboards?

How’d I get this job to teach English to 40 Spanish-speaking adults? I had been (when our kids were little) a neighbor of the head of the Adult Basic Education Department at Western Nevada College, that’s how. I’d taken a refresher course in Spanish at the college earlier that year with an instructor from Argentina. She suggested I volunteer at the summer classes of “English as a Second Language”.

The best advice I had from a teacher at that time was, “just get them to talk.”

I’d had so much fun, at the end of the semester, I called the office and blathered away about wanting to teach, not realizing who had answered the phone. “I think I know you,” she said. Our children had spent a few years together in the old neighborhood.

truth↑

fiction↓

Me llamo Ana Maria Martinez. Soy de Escondildo, California. Mi madre es de Glenrothes, Scotland. Mi padre es de Oaxaca, Oaxaca. Estoy la meastra de Ingles para este classe. Hablo Ingles, Español y Martian. Bienvenidos a Calzoncillos.

My name is Ana Maria Martinez. I’m from Escondildo, California. My mother is from Glenrothes, Scotland. My father is from Oaxaca, Oaxaca. I am the English teacher for this class. I speak English, Spanish and Martian. Welcome to underpants. (aka, carson city)