In Borders' cafe this afternoon, sitting near the eight year old and me, a teacher tutored her student. The latter, a woman perhaps eighteen or twenty years old, struggled to learn the same language I struggle to use every day. I wish I could have listened more closely to her accent. Dressed in jeans and a sweater, dark hair, a complexion that was perhaps northern African, or Indian, or Indonesian, or Brazilian--and of course, absolutely American.
I thought about how she is acquiring so much more than a language, and decided that perhaps this summer I should learn another one myself. The eight year old says he wants to learn French.Posted by Ideofact at April 29, 2007 10:51 PM