School

My daughter is now six. She is attending kindergarten at a local Spanish Immersion school. I've always lamented my not being multi-lingual. At my daughter's school, Spanish is the primary language. They wear uniforms and speak another language,but it's still kindergarten; they play outside and smear paint and glue over paper products.

Not having learned any second language, I'm struggling with Spanish. I drop my daughter off every workday morning.

"Buenos Dias" I stumble to Carmen, who runs the daycare program at the school.

"Buenos Dais" She replies, smiling.

And it usually stops there.

Every so often, courage boils up like gas and I blurt out.

"Como Esta?"

"Bien.

And it usually ends there.

I was even given a "Spanish in 3 months" CD kit for Christmas. It's holding up dust on my desk at work. My daughter, a little over half the way through her first school year, has already surpassed my meager level of Spanish. I'm often asking her how it sounds, what does this mean, etc. She rolls her eyes and corrects my mispronunciation. You know how it is when someone becomes so good at something that they struggle with the stragglers? I'm almost waiting for the condiscending pat on the arm, as if to say "you'll get it someday".

I am very pleased with her schooling. It feels as though it's challenging her more than a regular school would. It's also part of a local school district, so it's not costing extra as if it were a private school. We have another Spanish Immersion school that is closer to our home. My wife and I had applied my daughter there, but she did not make the "lottery". With only so many spots each year and an overwhelming popularity, many immersion schools hold lotteries. Get this - there is even a Chinese immersion school in the Twin Cities.

So I drive further to my daughter's school. I find the "drop-off" strangely offputting.

...

My daughter and I whoosh into her school, moving down the halls like a mini flood scouring the river valley; our passing wake jostling posters and curtains. We reach her schoolcare (before and after school daycare)and begin our routine. Like vaudville without the music she and I stop at her cubby. I hang up her backpack and pop into the room to sign her in. My daughter soon enters after hanging up (apply loosely) her jacket. We sometimes do a dance whereby I reach to hug her goodbye, but her eyes are on something shiny and she deftly evades my grasp.

Carmen and I exchange awkward hellos, in Spanish, and like a cold breeze in a warm room I'm gone.

Picking her up is just as strange, but not so harried.

Given the distance to school from both our home and my work, I'm in a rush both ways. I also pick up my daughter as my wife's work is out of the way.

...

Again the mini flood down the halls, but just a single wave now. I reach the schoolcare room. In my mind, it's as if I'm hurrying and suddenly have to stop lest I collide with a wall, skidding on one foot; the other foot raised and my arms out to balance the stop. Dust settles. I realize that it's only my daughter and maybe one or two other children. At a handful of minutes before six p.m., it's all quiet now that school is out. The day feels all used up. Energies that were ramped in the morning are now spent and waiting to rest. My daughter, sitting at one of the tables playing a game with another child gives me a quiet hello.

"Hi daddy". It still makes my heart skip to hear that.

Now we have time to spare. I chat with Ariana, who watches the children in the afternoon.

"Hola"

"hola" she replies

And the spanish stops there.

Granted, when they speak with the students, spanish is primarily all I can hear, mixed with english to help the students understand in the beginning. Admittedly, I am amazed at how quickly the kids pick up what is being said, even if they cannot reply in kind. It is said, that by the end of the year, they should be conversational in Spanish.

Amazing.