The Fight to Learn Spanish

As seems to be my tradition, I started reading one of my sister's Harry Potter books in the US and I left the country dying to know what happens in the last 300 pages. So I went to a bookstore and bought Harry Potter y la Orden del Fenix. My dictionary and I are getting through it much faster than I expected: I've learned lots of useful words such as varita magica, espada, mazmorra. I just have 20 pages left.

In addition to this, Peep has made it possible for us to take Spanish classes (one on one tutoring). We also see the occasional movie dubbed or subtitled in Spanish. Sometimes I think in Spanish. The reality is I have so many Spanish words in my head - I can understand even hours of complicated conversation. And as I slowly decipher the code, and words begin to unravel into meaning, a monster is exposed. It seems I have a prejudice against Spanish.

Anyone who is from Texas, and I would guess Southern California and Florida is exposed to Spanish regularly, mostly because of the large populations of Mexican or Central American immigrants. I learned the word "mande" as a 4 year old kid because I heard the maid say it when my grandmother called her. I saw brown Spanish speaking men come to my house to cut down Cedar trees and watched my Dad struggling to speak to them in Spanish. There are more Spanish signs and Spanish restaurants in the poorer parts of my hometown. I didn't meet a single college educated native Spanish speaker until I was in University.

Even though my knowledge and vocabulary are increasing every day, I can't seem to make much progress speaking. It's like I'm fighting against something large and heavy that's inside my own head. It has happened a few times when I'm really warmed up and the Spanish is flowing, and I hear myself using colloquialisms perfectly like "dale," "pues," "ay" and I stop. There's a feeling like panic in my chest and a thought in my head that, if it were brave enough to admit its own existence, would be something like "I sound like one of those people who speaks Spanish." And then the flow stops, and I'm sure my cheeks get red.

It's like Spanish is so useful where I come from, and its good to know it, but you don't wanna get too good. You always want to sound a little bit like a white person.

I can remember several conversations in my life where someone says something like, "look at that Mexican guy over there." and some well meaning white person nearby says "Shhhh. Don't call him that." As if his nationality is a disgrace.

Even though it burns my cheeks and churns my stomach to write this blog post and expose my horrible lurking prejudice to the world, I know I'm not alone. Now that these dormant ideas are unraveling before my eyes, I recognize that probably every one I know is prejudiced, even though they don't want to be and would hate to discover that they are.

So far, it is the greatest gift that Panama has given me. Here, Mexico is a rich older brother: it is a source of culture, maybe the way Americans think of France. When people here say, "I got it in Mexico." the response is "Oooooohhh, fancy." I'm reading books. The phrases that I thought only day laborers used are also used by Hermione and Professor McGonnal. Spanish is rich and sophisticated. It has poetic possibilities that English does not. It's still a heavy fight, but I'm gonna try with all I have to speak like a Mexican (the accent is more elegant than the Panamanian ;) and to go beyond the level of Spanish needed to give good instructions to maids and laborers.


This photo is of the main characters of my favorite Novella. It's my favorite because its my friend Fito's favorite, and he got me hooked. Mariachi is something slightly exotic and sophisticated here.