Not lost in translation is the cherished feeling of accomplishment

They come in hesitantly. “Es la clase de inglés?”

Yes, I reassure them, they’re in the right place, the after-school English class for newcomers. The majority of the students streaming through the door have been in the US for months at most. Their faces reflect a mix of anxiety and relief. The hope of unlocking the mystery of basic school interactions competes with terror at being asked to wrap their mouths around unfamiliar sounds and untangle confusing phonics.
Of 30 students on the roster, 16 show up. The class isn’t mandatory, so it’s clear that the 4th, 5th, and 6th graders who sit before me want to be here or have parents who insist on it.

The girls are, without exception, well-groomed, most with tight ponytails topped by giant bows. Their crisp white blouses, jumpers, knee socks, and thick black shoes reflect the style of the school uniforms they have recently left behind in their native Mexico. The boys are a mixed bag: some with shirts primly tucked in and hair parted to one side and gelled into place, and others sporting multi-colored hair or uniforms so casual they barely fit the definition.

We introduce ourselves the first afternoon. No one volunteers to go first, not even to stammer out, “Hello, my name is…” A green-haired boy loudly insists that he can’t do this, that he doesn’t speak English. When it is his turn, however, he takes a deep breath and says, “Hello, my name is Alejandro.” With help, he spells his name aloud in English, only stumbling badly over the letter J. His classmates applaud when he finishes. He smiles, sighs in relief, and says, “I wish my parents had named me something shorter and easier to spell!” Everyone laughs and the tension in the room dissipates.

Over the next few days, we generate lists of colors, body parts, and items of clothing. I know this does nothing to prepare them for the crushing academic load that lies ahead, that nowhere in the curriculum does it ask a student to identify blue, or pants, or ears. In fact, studies show it takes five to seven years to become completely fluent in a new language. However, the words are simple and as students gain confidence saying them, the volume in the room rises. I walk around listening to pairs of children describe their clothing. It’s hard to stifle a giggle when Alejandro boisterously yells, “I have bright sex!”

I’m confused until he points to his feet.

“No, hon, you have white socks.”

He repeats “white socks, white socks,” as I move on to the next group.

I watch as my young charges scribble the names of school supplies, playground equipment, and locations around the school. They practice “May I please have…?” and “May I please go…?” until I am confident that they can get anything and anywhere they might need on campus. They race the clock, shouting out names of school supplies with glee as I hold up a timer. Competitiveness overcomes shyness, and soon shouts of “May I have a pencil? May I use the stapler? May I have a piece of paper?” ring out through the classroom, as the children dissolve into fits of giggles.

We sit and stand, chant and sing, write and talk. I do my best to make it interesting, but it’s a long hour, especially after six hours of classes. The air conditioner has shut off for the day and the classroom is stuffy. The kids are restless and hungry. They’ve spent the day immersed in a language they don’t understand, trying to guess what’s expected of them based on their teachers’ facial expressions and gestures.Even those whose teachers speak Spanish spend time staring into space when their brains no longer absorb input from this foreign environment. Outside at recess, where so many of their peers speak Spanish, they rest a bit, but by 3:30, it seems to me they must be beat. Toward the end of this final hour of the school day, even I find myself fighting the urge to watch the clock.

I signal the end of the class. “Please bring me your notebooks.” A wave of sighs rolls through the classroom, a combination of relief and – on a good day – disappointment.
As they file out, exhausted but triumphant, the students call out their goodbyes in English. “Thank you, teacher! See you tomorrow!” As tired as I am, the enthusiasm and dedication of these 16 young immigrants fills me with hope. They are the ones who go the extra mile, who overcome fear, who put in the long hours to get ahead. Although the journey ahead of them is long and difficult, it seems apparent they will flourish. I can’t suppress a smile, so very glad that they are here.

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