Wednesday, January 14, 2015


My first Spanish teacher was Bertha.  We sat at her kitchen table along with her baby, who I think knew more Spanish than I did...and still does.  Bertha was my best teacher.  We met once or twice a week for about an hour.  Time went quickly.  I was 35 years old.  I could learn and remember then.  I tried again years later with a three month immersion experience in Mexico.  I was 61.  The school had two wonderful teachers, and though I learned much, including the nefarious subjunctive, I retained little.  The three months in Mexico with the Romo family were unforgettable to this day.  Unfortunately, the Spanish language was not so memorable.  I became a dummy.  Spanish keeps me humble.  Well, so does physics and calculus for that matter, but I still fumble along in Spanish ministry to rather forgiving congregations.  My best priestly contribution to Spanish ministry is that the people appreciate their Spanish priest more after suffering me.  See, we are never really useless!

1 comment:

  1. I think in Spanish speaking, as in most things, it is the intent. When you are honestly reaching out to communicate and trying to speak another language, you are admired for your effort.