A quick story to begin that has nothing to do with today’s blog except for the fact it’s cute:
Diana tossed Luca into a shopping cart in the Target parking lot and they entered through the automatic glass doors. The moment they hit the red carpeting, Luca breathed deeply and sighed, “Ahh. Smells like Target.”
You’re welcome.
Anyhoo, we’re white. Really, really white. The combination of both Diana and my DNA is a black hole of pigment. This whiteness makes me I worry my sons will only have white experiences and white friends and white bread sandwiches. So whenever Elijah takes a mild interest in someone or something non-white, I overpraise to the point ruining whatever it is he was curious about in the first place.
Which brings me to Spanish.
Eli has been learning the occasional Spanish word at Pre School. When we’re driving around, he’ll say things like, “Dad. Did you know how to say ‘one’ in Spanish? ‘Uno.’”
“Oh my gosh! That’s so awesome! You know how to say ‘uno!’ That is the greatest thing in the history of the world! Uno! UNO! Wow. That’s really, really great. I hope you can use this talent with your future Latin American friends.”
Well, like any four year old whose father just spewed praise all over the back seat, he’s beun making up Spanish words to get me to say how smart he is.
“Dad, do you know to say ‘pasta salad’ in Spanish?”
“No sir.”
“Plecolatical flangol.”
“Ah. Are you sure? That doesn’t even sound Spanish.”
“Dad. Do you know how to say ‘cat’ in Spanish?”
“I know that one. ‘Gato.’”
“No, it’s ‘Plecolatical flangol.’”
“Wait, isn’t that just what you said ‘pasta salad’ was in Spanish?”
“No.”
Incidentally, Google just informed me “Pasta Salad” in Spanish is “Ensalada de Pasta.”
No comments:
Post a Comment