Every Monday I go next door to my neighbor’s house and we chat for an hour or two. She is from Brazil and wants help with her English. I find chatting the most comfortable way for both of us. Today we planned her son’s birthday party. The way the chatting works is that when we’re talking and Niecy makes an error in grammar or conversation, we stop while I explain. She also has me write it down so she can see what I mean. I love it when she says, “Good to know.” We have become friends.

I have the worst accent when I learn a new language. My ears hear it but my mouth doesn’t cooperate. I can never Iive in a country where you have to roll R’s. French was the language I learned in high school. We didn’t have a choice. I remember Sister Madeline Marie making us listen to learn. My memory grabbed all the words, and that was the best I could do. I got A’s on tests but cringed when I had to speak. I think Sister Madeline Marie did too.

In college I decided to desert French and try Spanish. The problem in the beginning was I mixed my languages. I remember on the first test the professor circled all the French and Latin words I had used, but it didn’t take long before I knew the vocabulary and could understand most of what was said. The problem was I could barely be understood, but we had mostly written tests so I did well.

During second year Spanish, we were supposed to go language lab once a week. I did in the beginning but after a while I got bored and substituted a music tape. I generally got caught and had to go back to the Spanish tape and drone in repetition. I stopped going. My Spanish professor was an Augustinian and he was wonderful. He had fled Spain during Franco’s time and told us stories about hiding and wearing mufti. He brought me into the hall once and told me for a smart girl I was stupid. He had just gotten the attendance for the language lab. He said he could fail me, but he wouldn’t. He’d give me a D instead of the A I could have had. I meekly said gracias and went back to my seat.

I used my French vocabulary in West Africa all the time. I seldom spoke in sentences but strung words together which were usually understood. I could give directions, order food and shop in the market. Sister Madeline Marie would have been proud.

In South America I used my Spanish to go from Venezuela to Brazil. I could order food, buy bus or train tickets and chat a bit with fellow passengers using the strung vocabulary technique. I could understand almost everything said to me. I just couldn’t easily reply. Father Acanada would have had a few words to say about that. He’d tell me, “See, you should have gone to language lab.”