matching tracksuits

Back straight, chest out, shoulders square, hands folded behind the back. Greetings, warm but firm, as everyone comes in.

The Speech, highlights:

I will treat you as an adult, which means that I will respect you and speak respectfully to you. When I speak to you, I will not simply bark an order, but I will speak politely. I use “please” and “thank you.” Most importantly, it means when you speak to me, I give you my full attention. I expect the same. Is that clear? Does everyone understand?

A quick survey shows that some indeed are not listening. Time for the sergeant act.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I asked you a question, and when I ask you a question, you will answer it. When I speak to you, you will listen.”

It’s the best drill sergeant voice I can muster, and I deliver the words in a loud and firm voice.

Silence.

“Do you understand?”

Heads nod, a few “Yes sirs.” A hand up. “Were you in the military, sir?”

Sometimes it’s amazing how well I can act the role.

It can be a look — eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly askew, or the opposite: eyebrows raised with eyes opened Bambi wide. It can be a sound — smacking licks, a gasp of exasperation. It can be body language — a staunch refusal to look someone in the eyes, shoulders turned perpendicular to another’s body, a tapping pencil. It can probably be even a smell — pheromones released, but undetected by the blunt human nose.

There must be a thousand ways of telling someone, “I don’t want your help, and I think you’re a fool for offering it” without uttering a single word.

At some point we all need help, so the theory goes. But there are a few stalwart individuals who would rather drown than take a proffered hand. There are a few who will refuse swimming lessons even as they stand on the ever-vertical deck of a sinking ship, not take a parachute in a spiraling plane.

“We give help to everyone in the world! When do they help us!? We help bail out this and that country, send aid here and there, notably saved and re-built Europe in WWII. What do we get for our efforts? Hatred.”

Thus complained someone once about how hated America — saintly, in this person’s view — is in the world. Poor us.What do we do when we do get that help?

Hundreds of tons of British food aid shipped to America for starving Hurricane Katrina survivors is to be burned

US red tape is stopping it from reaching hungry evacuees. (commondreams.org)

That’s right — we burn it.

(Thanks to “Chhavi”:http://chhavisachdev.com/blog for this.)

Je ne parle pas français bien. Je me rappelle très peu de ce que j’ai appris dans

l’université. En fait, j’ai écrit ceci en anglais et je l’ai traduit aux poissons de Babel. Cela explique la

bêtise de ce texte.

I don’t speak French well. I remember very little of what I learned in college. In

fact, I wrote that in English and I translated it at Babel Fish. That explains the silliness of this

text.

Not speaking French didn’t stop me from being a French teacher for the day today. Fortunately, I

had two bocks of first year French and only one block of third year. Even more fortunately, the planning

period fell between the third year and first year blocks, so I had plenty of time to do a bit of

cramming.

Oh, for a real Babel Fish, though. Think of the problems that might solve — instant

intelligibility. Think of all the translators and comparative literature scholars out of work.

Teaching

something while not being entirely sure that you’re teaching it correctly is a little like the Engine that

Could — I think this is right, I think this is right.

A few tips for those embarking on teaching a

foreign language you barely remember:

* When in doubt about translation, be honest — “I don’t

know.”
* When in doubt about grammar, be honest — “I don’t know.”
* When in doubt about spelling, be

honest — “I don’t know.”
* When in doubt about pronunciation, mumble.

And thank the maker for an

assembly that cuts half an hour off your last lesson.

Je ne parle pas français bien. Je me rappelle très peu de ce que j’ai appris dans l’université. En fait, j’ai écrit ceci en anglais et je l’ai traduit aux poissons de Babel. Cela explique la bêtise de ce texte.

I don’t speak French well. I remember very little of what I learned in college. In fact, I wrote that in English and I translated it at Babel Fish. That explains the silliness of this text.

Not speaking French didn’t stop me from being a French teacher for the day today. Fortunately, I had two bocks of first year French and only one block of third year. Even more fortunately, the planning period fell between the third year and first year blocks, so I had plenty of time to do a bit of cramming.

Oh, for a real Babel Fish, though. Think of the problems that might solve � instant intelligibility. Think of all the translators and comparative literature scholars out of work.

Teaching something while not being entirely sure that you’re teaching it correctly is a little like the Engine that Could � I think this is right, I think this is right.

A few tips for those embarking on teaching a foreign language you barely remember:

• When in doubt about translation, be honest � “I don’t know.”�
• When in doubt about grammar, be honest � “I don’t know.”�
• When in doubt about spelling, be honest � “I don’t know.”�
• When in doubt about pronunciation, mumble.

And thank the maker for an assembly that cuts half an hour off your last lesson.