Savory or Apples?
A friend of mine in the United States needs cheering, so I send him frequent hellos from my busy life to his bleak one, trying to include some detail to interest him. It is hard to engage sad, demoralized, or depressed people, but maybe, I thought one afternoon, he’d enjoy a description of my new fourth-grade private student. This girl, who had just turned 10, was new for me, though she had been attending the language school where I teach since she was five. Despite the years of extra study in the classroom, her English was rudimentary, hence her parents’ hope that it would improve with individual attention. I wasn’t at all sure I could work any wonders for this happy, jumpy, eager little girl. And yet, I was still motivated to look for exercises, games, and activities to engage her and build her arsenal of English. She made me eager and happy.
I had 15 minutes before my first class, which happened to be with this girl, so I wrote to my friend, telling of my student’s hazel eyes, quick laugh, light brown hair in a long braid, and clunky shoes. “She always wears loose sweaters and leggings. She does karate and she’s a talented swimmer. She’s a decent student but does not shine in the classroom.” Does not shine? No, wait. She does! She glows! I erased the description and started over.
I finished my email. Then it was time, and I stuck my head out the classroom door to find the girl in the waiting area, sitting like a mouse in her seat, clutching her books. I was struck by a fit of coughing just then from a lingering cold. As the girl entered, I coughed again. She turned to face me and said, “What a cough!”
She was speaking Spanish and remarking on the obvious, yet in a rush of friendly gratitude, I thought her comment and her tone both perfect. Just the right amount of concern. Not simply ingratiating but carrying a hint of reproach, as if to say, You should see someone about that, or, How have you let this happen?
“I know. Sorry.” Then I was taken by another spasm of coughing. The present continuous form, along with can and prefer, was on the agenda for our lesson, so I gasped, “What am I doing?”
And so I taught her the verb cough. Then I reminded her of other verbs for bodily actions. Laugh, cry, smile, frown, sneeze. I wrote them all down on scraps of paper, shuffled them, drew one to mime, and asked, “What am I doing?” After a few goes, we switched roles. It is a simple game, and it works well for kids who are antsy, because they get to move. This student and I had played it before with verbs for sports and daily routines.
And so the hour would have passed, from grammar and vocabulary review games to the next lesson in the book, with new grammar and vocabulary. It would have all been gay commands from me in English to repeat the words and ask or answer questions. And from her, her best effort to do so, her English words like thick chalk marks on a rock wall accompanied by a running commentary in Spanish, intricate and delicate, proving by contrast how primitive her cave art was.
That day, however, she reminded me that it was her older brother’s birthday. He was a student of mine, too. “Oh!” I said. “Let’s make him a card!” And so I dug out the supplies and we made a card, a picture on the front and a message from each of us inside. All the while I worked on can. “You can draw very well! Can you draw a tree? A dog? A flower? Can you count to 10 in English? Can you speak French? Can you ride a bike?” And on to prefer. “Do you prefer cats or dogs? Meat or fish? Pasta or rice? Chocolate or strawberry? Saturdays or Sundays? Sweet or savory? Pink or purple? Cake or ice cream?”
When it was her turn, she asked if I preferred Saturdays or green.
I was brought up short. “That’s a funny question.”
She shrugged and made an inquiring face as if to say, Okay, but why?
“Ask another.”
“Do you prefer savory or apples?”
You can’t ask that, either, I wanted to say. Instead, I thought, Well, why not? Symmetry and parallel construction. I never question those tenets. Maybe it was time to. So, I said it was a difficult choice. Like choosing between sleeping or a kite on a breezy day. Two very real pleasures. A ray of sun or a burbling fountain. A birthday or a book. Salty or breezy. Reader, I cannot think that any comparison is impossible. Where a choice is offered, a choice can be made. My lovely student, a star swimmer who had just won another swim meet, said she preferred sleeping to swimming. What to make of that? I have time to consider it. Weeks, or maybe months or years. When I am 80, I will recall that day from 20 years earlier, when a ray of sunshine bounced around my classroom and warmed me, and when I, with a mirror trick, tried to deflect the bright glint halfway around the world to my friend’s dreary morning. Oh, if only he had the will to make an effort instead of sinking into despond! Oh, if only he knew my student! Then it wouldn’t be an effort!
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