dumb and dumberer

There was a time, long ago, when I was actually quite proficient at the English language. In fact, in an ironic twist, the original plan as an entering freshman at Holy Cross was to wait one semester and then declare an English major. Obviously, things ended up heading down an alternative path and a different language was to dominate my four collegiate years: espanol!

Over the years, I had acquired a decent vocabulary that I had been building up since learning to speak. I was a good writer and a decent speaker. I spent my childhood writing and illustrating stories (Stephanie Casey and I were co-authors of a pretty impressive collection... I believe she'd agree) and reading freakish amounts of books. During (I almost wrote durante) the years of good ole Flanders Elementary, I found sick pleasure in vocab quizzes. Scrabble was and remains a favorite. My dad instilled in me an obsession with crossword puzzles... I do two a day and I'll admit it, I'm damn good at them. I actually ENJOYED writing college application essays. I am one of those people who would take writing a paper over taking an exam any day. I love sitting down with a good book. I appreciate intelligence in a person and an ability to express oneself in a somewhat articulate manner.

This last sentence officially now makes me a hypocrite. Why? Because I can no longer speak English. The language I was brought up with. The mother tongue. The language of my forefathers (well, aside from the ones speaking Gaelic and German anyway...). I officially now sound like a blundering idiot. Short, simple, choppy sentences completely lacking in segues and any form of fluidity. Single syllable words. Basic grammar that I can't screw up. The Middlebury program, for anyone who I haven't told, has a rule (we had to sign a pledge) which states that we have to speak Spanish 24/7 since day 1. Because of said pledge, us Middleburyanos instinctively speak Spanish with each other when we're in class, when we run into each other in the street, when we go out. In fact, I pretty much don't know how anyone in the program outside of our little pandilla sounds in English. So, for example: I live with two other girls in the program, and we speak exclusively in Spanish (well, except for when English is necessary to make a story actually funny so the other two don't have to fake a laugh). We eat in Spanish. We go out drinking in Spanish. We clean in Spanish. Susan whines in Spanish. Joanne has her rumbos in Spanish. I bask in my aura of perfection in Spanish.

My language issues started over the summer during the 6 infernal weeks in the Middlebury gulag. Upon our arrival, we signed the "pledge," and by doing so we signed away our rights to speak English for six weeks. After four weeks, BernBern (alias: Mom) came up to visit and I found myself having serious problems to the comedic delight of my mother (almost wrote madre). I found myself speaking in Spanglish... INVOLUNTARILY... randomly throwing in Spanish without realizing it while trying to maintain a conversation in English. Mom thinks its funny and laughter ensues (hers). Betsey thinks she's losing it. She thinks to herself, who else can't distinguish between one personality and the other? Oh, right.... I believe they are a called schizophrenics and are often found in institutions... and no I don't mean Middlebury College.

Now that I'm livin la vida loca (oh Ricky Martin, how your words speak to my soul..) in Madrid, it has gotten progressively worse. The no English rule is obviously the key to the success of this program and I see the value of it all and know that it must be helping my Spanish. However, it is slowly killing my English. How will I interview for jobs? (Ugh, that word just made me throw up a little in my mouth.) I have it figured out now that instead of being good at one language and at a "language in progress" level with another, I'm now just plain dumb in both. I speak English like, once a week when Bern-Bern calls. And here are some self-observations. I have been known to say things like "I have thirst" instead of "I'm thirsty" because I'm thinking in Spanish grammar. My very first word as an adorable, loveable, perfect, chubby baby was "doggie"... but now when I see a dog I automatically think "perrito!" And I am embarrassed to admit that the other day I spelled "shoe" as "s-h-o-o" and spent a good two minutes debating about whether it looked right or wrong. I mean, wow.

Finally, the most disturbing and confusing of the habits that I've picked up is that when speaking in English, I have somehow acquired a "hick" accent. HICK. Like hay hanging out of my mouth, dirty bare feet, double first names, and confederate flag in the window of my '78 pickup hick. I don't know why or how I ended up with this red neck affliction, but Joanne also appears to be showing signs. I'm starting to picture myself in overalls living with Jim-Bob and Jethro in a trailor park in the Tennessee boonies with a bun in the oven saying things like "Come on Pa, go on and git that there fiddle of yours, we's gonna have us a hoe-down!"