Ides of March

My first experience with a foreign language was my mother's mother tongue, Yiddish.  As her parents were immigrants whose language was Yiddish, that was the language they taught her when she was a child growing up in their house.  English would come later, especially at public school.  

When I was growing up in my mother's house, I heard a smattering of Yiddish, especially when my parents wanted to communicate in front of us children without our understanding. The word I especially remember is "kleyner," which means "little one," which was how my mother often referred to me when I was young.  The culture of the period when my mother raised her children discouraged speaking a foreign language, a sign of not being 100% American.  So, my mother didn't pass Yiddish on to the next generation. What a pity!

As a Jewish child, I was sent to Hebrew School to learn about our family's religion.  There I was taught Hebrew, but only how to read and speak the words in the prayers.  "Barukh attah Adonai."  I remember asking my teacher what the Hebrew words meant in English.  He said it was not important for us to understand what the words meant, but God would.  Bad answer!

In 1959, I entered the ninth grade at Kingsford Park School and was required to take first year Latin.  It was exciting to finally learn a foreign language.  "Agricolae amat puella."  The following year at Oswego High School, I was offered the choice of taking second year Latin or first year French.  Being a lazy student, I opted for the former hoping I could get away with only two years of a foreign language, the minimum requirement for most colleges. However, my mother noted they preferred a third year.  She and I had a big fight about this and of course I lost.  I had to take third year Latin as well.

My Latin teacher at OHS was Mrs. (Ruth) Young.  As she was the youngest and prettiest of my teachers, I probably had a small crush on her.  Our first year together we got along great.  I was one of the best students in her class.  Besides learning the Latin language, we studied Roman culture and history.  I remember that in the Roman calendar, the fifteenth of each month was referred to as the "Ides." This past Wednesday was the Ides of March.  In 44 B.C., Roman Emperor Julius Caesar was assassinated on the Ides of March.  In William Shakespeare's play, Julius Caesar, the soothsayer warned him, "Beware of the Ides of March."

In my second year with Mrs. Young (third year Latin), as a sign of a silent protest, I basically studied just enough to pass. She noticed a difference in my attitude.  One day after class, Mrs. Young confronted me.  She asked how I was doing in my other classes.  I responded that I was an A student in Intermediate Algebra, Physics, and American History, with a B in English.  She asked why then was I barely getting a C in her class.  I said, "I don't know, Mrs. Young." But, I did.

With three years of Latin in high school, I was exempted from having to study a foreign language at Penn.  How unfortunate!  I remember one of my freshman roommates elected to take first year Russian.  Currently, at least one year of a foreign language is a requirement for a student at Penn's Wharton School.  

As a young adult, my ex-wife, Bonita, and I signed up for French classes at the Alliance Francaise in New York City.  We had a fantasy of living in France for a while.  My first course was great.  I learned how to say, "Paris est la capitale de la France."  The second course was more difficult.  The third was a horror as the teacher refused to accept questions in English nor respond in English.  I was lost and I quit.  

In 1998, I was browsing through a copy of the Village Voice, a newspaper I never read, neither before nor after that day.  I saw an advertisement for private Portuguese classes offered by a Brazilian teacher, Natalia Gedanke.  After a couple of business trips to Brazil, I had a curiosity about the Portuguese language.  There was no commitment beyond one lesson.  She came for that first class at my office.  It was great.  We continued for five years, eventually moving the weekly classes to her apartment on Pineapple Street in Brooklyn, near the Promenade.

So, here I am today, almost twenty years later, living in Sao Paulo, Brazil, speaking Portuguese with my wife, Cristina, her mother, Irene, and many other Brazilians.  "Bom dia.  Como vai?  Tudo bem?"  My fluency is getting better and better.  I think Mrs. Young would be proud of me.