learnspanishwithprofessoredwards.blog

What Do You Mean, You Don’t Speak Spanish?

My name is Donald Blakley Edwards and I have a story to tell you.

 I was born in the state of Arkansas to the parents of James and Minnie Lee Edwards. I lived there until the age of 15. At that time, I had just completed the 10th grade in high school.

 After having spent several summer vacations in Los Angeles, California, I asked my parents for permission to remain there and finish high school. After much begging and pleading, they gave me that permission. I lived with my big sister, my little nephew Aaron and my brother-in-law Arthur in a tiny apartment on 54th Street, just about one-half mile west of Crenshaw Boulevard, if you happen to know that area. It was at this time that I embarked upon my wonderful and exciting journey into the world of foreign languages. 

 The first experience I had with the Spanish language was at my aunt’s sewing factory. She had what used to be called (and still is today) a sweatshop. It was filled with seamstresses. About 90 percent of them were Latina women who spoke little or no English at all. I mean, I couldn’t understand a word they were saying and the feeling was mutual.  They couldn’t understand a word I was saying either. But for some strange reason I was intrigued, intrigued by the fact that here were these people that, first of all, didn’t look anything like me, and second of all, spoke to each other and understood each other in a language that, in my mind, was just plain “weird”.

In my little town of Marked Tree, Arkansas (weird name, right?), there were exactly 675 people when I was born.  When I left Marked Tree, there were 3,216. The only language I had ever heard before was English. And many times it wasn’t even correct English. Southern drawls and accents can sometimes be extremely difficult to understand, let alone trying to learn to speak a foreign language. In fact, some people consider southern English itself to be a foreign language. I mean, I’m talking: Arkansas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia and Tennessee.  If I left out your state, don’t feel bad. Be glad that you don’t live in one of those “foreign” countries. Just kidding, of course.

In my little town there were only two races: Black and White. There were no Latinos, Japanese or Chinese. In fact, I’d only seen those people on television.  So, you can imagine my shock and amazement when I went to live with my relatives in Los Angeles. and I saw them everywhere.

I believe my first day of school at Crenshaw High was the start of my introduction to other races and cultures, other than Black and White. There were Whites, Blacks, Orientals and Latinos, among some other races, too, but the races previously mentioned were in the majority.

I remember my sister dropping me off at school on the first day. She said, “Don’t be nervous. It’ll be alright.” I said, knowing that I was as nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof, “I ain’t nervous.” First, I had to go to speak to a counselor. She asked me all sorts of questions, like, what classes had I taken in the 10th grade in Arkansas. I told her about some of the classes I had taken and she put a strange frown on her face. She said, “What about Algebra?” I said, “What is Algebra?” She said, “What about Civics?” I said, “What is Civics?” She said, “Boy, where are you from?” I proudly said, “I’m from Marked Tree, Arkansas.” 

She looked at me as if to say, “Uh-hum. A real hillbilly I’ve got on my hands here. A real hillbilly.” She then told me about all the required classes I needed to take in order to graduate on time. I looked at her and asked, “I gotta learn all that?” She replied, “Do you wanna graduate?” I said, “Yes, ma’am.” She said, “Then you know what you gotta do.” Depression took over me.

 I felt as if I were in a different world, with people I didn’t understand, hearing languages that I couldn’t speak, and now needing to take courses that I wasn’t in the slightest bit familiar with. Journalism? What is that? And horticulture. What? The thoughts of returning to my little town began to creep into my brain. At least, I knew everyone there. We spoke the same language, ate the same kind of food, listened to the same kind of music, and so on.

  After the counselor told me about the classes I needed to take, she then asked, “Now, what electives do you want to take?” Now, here she was again with those fancy words. “Elective? What is an elective?”, I asked her. At that point I could imagine what the counselor was thinking. She was probably thinking to herself, “Lord, help this child!”  After she explained to me the concept of “elective classes”, I said, “I wanna take Art and Spanish.” She looked at me in the strangest way I had ever seen. I could read her mind. I bet she was saying to herself, “Boy, you can hardly speak English. Spanish is definitely not for YOU!”  But instead, she said, “Alright, then. Good luck, boy. Good luck.” The way she said it scared me. What was I getting myself into? Had I made the right decision? What was it about Spanish that seemed to make her feel that I couldn’t learn it?

 To my surprise, and perhaps to my horror, my first class of the day was Spanish.  I stumbled upon the room and there sat a classroom of students, none of whom I knew, who were chatting with each other. They talked about their summer vacations, where they had gone. I just sat there waiting for the teacher to say something to me, because I knew no one and did not dare try to introduce myself to anyone. They looked and acted so much differently than me. They were more sophisticated and worldly. Then, all of a sudden, I said to myself, “What am I doing here? Why did I come here?” 

But to my disbelief, I thrived at Crenshaw High School. I absolutely loved Spanish. Everything about it intrigued me. Unlike some of my other classes where I procrastinated until the last minute to study and do my homework, I’d rush home after school and immediately do my Spanish homework. On the weekends I’d try to find more advanced Spanish books, so I could learn more vocabulary. I found a small paperback book at USC (University of Southern California) called “See It And Say It In Spanish”. Now, mind you, this was way before the invention of the desktop or laptop computers. And forget about the internet. There was no such thing in the 70’s. All I had were some books, and I listened to the radio and tried to decipher some words.  I read my cousin’s university Spanish books to learn more verb tenses and how to use them.

 My life changed completely because of Spanish. It opened my eyes to many new things. I met Latinos from many walks of life. Many didn’t speak any English. I practiced my Spanish with them and learned a ton about the Latino culture and history, and I even had a little Latina girlfriend named Sonia.  By the time I finished High School, I spoke Spanish very well, after taking Spanish 1 and 2 in the 11th and 12th grades. At least, I thought I spoke it very well.

 In the 12th grade, a college scout came to Crenshaw High to encourage us to enroll at Central University of Iowa. He brought this big, heavy,  clunky monitor on which he showed us a short film of the university. It was a small college of only about 1200 students!  My high school had more students that that. I saw people walking around the campus, lying around the pond feeding the ducks, chit-chatting and playing frisbee. I fell totally in love with the school and decided at that moment that I wanted to attend there. Of course, my parents were shocked.

 They pictured me going to a larger university, like UCLA (University of California at Los Angeles) or to USC (University of Southern California). I assured them that Central University of Iowa was where I truly wanted to go. At last, they agreed. I was only 17 years old and thousands of miles away from home, but that was fine with me. I loved being my own man.

 During my freshman year, I matured an awful lot. There were no parents around to tell me to wake up, to do my homework, to study for exams, to do my laundry, etcetera. It was all on me. I went from being a teenager to being a man overnight. It was frightening, but those were the best four years of my entire life. At Central you can probably guess what I majored in. That’s right…. Spanish! I got my Bachelor’s Degree in Spanish and went on to SIU-C (Southern Illinois University at Carbondale) and took graduate classes toward a Master’s Degree.

 When I was just a freshman at Central College, I went to Mérida, Yucatán, México to live with a Mexican family for several months. I got acquainted with the Mayan population and even learned to speak a word or two of one of the Mayan dialects. This was another fantastic and rewarding experience for me. To be surrounded by an entire culture whose native language was Spanish was just incredible.

There I was, a little 17-year-old country boy from Marked Tree, Arkansas, in a foreign country with no parental supervision. The feeling was out of this world and I cherish that experience to this very day. I graduated from Central College in May, 1977.

 Since graduating from college, I have been employed by many companies where Spanish was either a requirement or a tremendous asset. Some of my employers have included working at Home Savings of America (now Chase Bank), Coast Federal Bank and California Federal Savings as a bilingual real estate appraiser, as well as working at the Los Angeles Unified School District as a Junior High and High School Spanish teacher and English as a Second Language (ESL) teacher to adults. I also interpreted for teachers, doctors, lawyers and laymen in all walks of life.

 1995, I studied Interpreting and Translating at UCLA (University of California at Los Angeles). After completing these classes, I went on to become an interpreter and translator with a company contracted by the Federal Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) where I assisted in the captures and arrests of multitudes of drug traffickers, human traffickers and other types of criminals.

 My dream of having my own little “school” also came true in 1995 where I taught Spanish to anyone who had a hunger to communicate with people of another culture and language. 

 Presently, my goal is to teach and assist anyone who desires to have at least a “working” knowledge of every day and advanced Spanish, not only for interpersonal reasons, but also in order to have a deeper insight and understanding of other cultures and, in the process, become more competitive in an ever-changing world.

 Those who are bilingual, whether it be in Spanish, Chinese, Korean, Arabic, French or any other language, are in increasingly high demand.  However, if you simply want to learn a few words and phrases in Spanish just for fun or for traveling purposes, that’s fantastic. So, let’s get STARTED! Just remember, if you’re serious, you can do this. My advice to you is to Practice, Practice and Practice! That is the key.

Donald Blakley Edwards

So, tell me. 

1)   What is your purpose for wanting to learn Spanish?                                                    2)   Have you had any experiences with the Latino people, their culture and language? If so, share them with me.  I want to hear about all about it. Alright?