Laura Fay shares about her experience practicing speaking Spanish in different neighborhoods.
I learned Spanish back in high school and was fortunate to get immersed in the language while taking care of children. Initially, I struggled to converse and made lots of errors but, unlike adults, the children were never shy to correct me, sometimes even ridiculing me for silly mistakes. It felt really great to connect in another language. I loved how words revealed a culture, especially when expressions didn’t have a direct translation in my own language. These days, my Spanish is pretty rusty. So, I love to practice when I can.
Recently at the deli counter in a Mexican market I tried “¡Hola! ¿Puede mostrarme qué tipos de queso tiene?” The employee paused a moment and said, “Everything we have is here,” as she pointed to the display case, her tone polite but firm. My heart sank just a little bit.
This happened repeatedly. Every attempt at my speaking Spanish was met with an immediate switch to English. Each time, I felt a pang of disappointment. I wanted the resistance, the challenge, the stumbling through a sentence and eventually the satisfaction of getting it right.
More recently, when I had a question for a produce clerk at my local supermarket and it was apparent that he had trouble understanding me, I switched to Spanish. It seemed like he was grateful for the accommodation. I’d wanted to put him at ease and I now understood that perhaps others were just trying to do the same for me.