This was the week the school exploded. We went from about 15 students to 40, in one day. Maria (the student) wasn’t too thrilled with the addition to our house of a grandfather and granddaughter team who didn’t seem all that interested in learning Spanish. Well, the grandfather was interested in learning a couple words to say to his new girlfriend. And the granddaughter might have been more interested in learning if she didn’t have to act so much as caregiver.
I felt a little bad when Maria (the student, or ts), Maria (our mama Tica), and I would start telling stories and leave the others out. Mostly we tried to translate, but sometimes the stories would require more attention and we’d forget to translate for a while. They’d sit there, looking expectant and slightly uncomfortable until we remembered they didn’t understand anything we were saying.
The new people also meant 4 new students in my class, all of them in middle or high school. I found it annoying to be the old fogey, and also that I think the two youngest kids knew the rules, but either didn’t actually understand Spanish, or didn’t care to bother to pay attention. Because of their placement tests the first day, and a field trip that had been promised to me later in the week, I only had three classes with the others; if it had been more, or if the youngest two had more than a week at IPED, I probably would have mentioned the whole situation to David and Zaida. But I didn’t.
I did realize, though, that there’s a huge difference in the behavior of someone who does something like Spanish school who values their money, and someone who either has never learned the value or who has enough money that the school fees are of no importance to them. They just tend to be less serious about class. I think there should be a question in the placement test: “Are you only doing this because someone is making you, or you feel like you should?” And if they say yes, they should be in a class very far away from me.
The first dance class that week, we talked about going out to Tipico Latino later. But the only day that would work was that one. We made tentative plans with a few people, but in the end it was only me and Maria who went. Well, and then Maria convinced Maria (mama tica) to go with us, too. On the taxi ride over, we discussed how to get Maria (ts) in to Tipico Latino, if they asked about her age. Maria told Maria to remember she was 19, not 16. And also mute. And Maria was her mama. Maria (mama tica) even actually danced.
Maria and I danced, too. We danced before Carlos came, and then we danced much better after he came. After I came back from a very spinny merengue, Maria (mama tica), when I came back, said, “Eres Tica!” and asked me why I hadn’t told her before that I had become Costa Rican. She was similarly curious about my quick pick up of salsa (although she didn’t hear Carlos’ frustration with me when I kept spinning one too many times.) She also remarked several times on my “flexibility” dancing reggaeton, which requires an entirely different skill set.
The next day we went to San Jose to see the Museo de Oro. We also talked about the World Cup a lot. I learned how to say Ivory in Spanish. We discussed Argentina. Abdullah couldn’t understand why any one would root for a team without a good chance of winning. I didn’t understand why anyone would root for a team with a good chance of winning.
One more trip with the crew, then it’s on to turtles.
