I came to Spain for one reason, primarily: to learn Spanish. So naturally, with the end of my stay in this country fast-approaching, I find myself wondering often: “Have I improved? Am I a better Spanish speaker than when I arrived?” I´ve learned an awful lot about the art from El Greco to Dalí and everything in between. I have a much better conception of Spanish history than I ever thought I would—indeed, it seems my political consciousness has resembled that of an authentic Spaniard with all this discussion of Franco. But these intellectual accomplishments aside, I think I´ve learned the most from my after school instructions with my six year old teacher, Teresita. Every day when I finish up with class and schoolwork, I head home and spend the afternoon with my host family´s daughter, who is always eager for company while her parents are away at work. Teresita is learning English in school, but she refuses to speak it outside the classroom, and I can´t blame her. So we spend the afternoon as most six year olds do, and I have the lingo down pat. When I was studying in the United States, I never thought I´d have a need for words like plastina (play dough), voltereta (cartwheel, somersault), and comba (jumprope). But my vocabulary has been shaped by my unique experience here, and I wouldn´t trade it for anything.
Julia Love
