The Curious Case of Pam

First published February 5, 2009

A peek into the classroom

In the F. Scott Fitzgerald short story, "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button," the main character is born as an old man and progressively gets younger as the years go by. An interesting idea to say the least. I've heard that "youth is wasted on the young" and "if I knew then what I know now..." spoken by seasoned individuals longing for yesterday.

Today I had an opportunity to return to a previous stage of life. From ages 5-21 I walked the halls of educational institutions learning first my numbers, colors, and spelling my name then eventually scientific concepts, mathematical equations and which foods to avoid in the cafeteria.

Time passed and life brought more joys and challenges than I could have dreamed or imagined. Now 20 years later I find myself back in a classroom, surrounded by other students from a variety of countries with all the same goal--to learn Arabic.

John shooed all the girls out the door at promptly 8 am today. We would each take language classes. John and I will study full-time at International Language Institute (ILI) and the girls will go part-time at the Episcopal Training Center (ETC) to supplement their online high school curriculum.

We went our separate ways and the older fam members arrived 20 minutes early for class. (John and I are notoriously punctual people and if you multiply this times nervousness plus a speedy taxi driver it explains our extra 20 minutes of just "hanging" at the school.)

The classroom had tables set up in a "U" with a whiteboard in the front of the class. Students began filing in and John and I designated ourselves as the official "greeters." Our first friend was from Denmark. Her name is Lemula. She's a pretty, 20-something, half-Danish, half-Egyptian anthropology student. We hit it off right away. For one thing she spoke English and another she was a face other than someone from our family. We talked about taxis and traffic and reasons for studying Arabic.

Others filtered in and we asked similar questions, "What is your name?" "Where are you from?" "Why do you want to study Arabic?" Holland, Switzerland, Korea, Mexico, Canada and of course the USA were all represented.

A sweet Egyptian lady in her early 30s arrived wearing a lime green hijab (headscarf) with coordinating winter jacket (60 degrees today afterall) and a long, dark denim skirt. She was our teacher. She greeted us in Arabic and 2 or 3 of the students responded...in Arabic. Wait a second! How can they respond in Arabic? This is supposed to be the Beginning of All Beginners Class. No one should be saying anything in Arabic except the teacher. She smiled and said the greeting again and again. She looked at us and told us in English that when she says something, we should repeat what she said 3 times outloud.

She moved on to another phrase and then pointed at us to repeat. Again, the "advanced" students piped up like it was the easiest thing in the world. We continued this exercise using different phrases and working on pronunciation first as a group and then individually.

After a few minutes, some of the things she was saying were beginning to make sense. Others not so much. She taught us 2 letters of the Arabic alphabet too. She pulled out large pieces that were from a jigsaw puzzle that a 3 year old might use. She adhered them to the whiteboard and began making sounds having us repeat them. She combined a few letters and soon we were making unintelligible syllables. It was glorious.

She pointed to herself and told us her name is Aisha (Eye-ay-shuh). She then pointed at me and asked my name. I sort of told her. She moved about the room asking the same question and giving each of us an opportunity to dazzle her with our brilliance.

The morning wore on and I felt like I had been in class for hours, but we had only made it halfway. She dismissed us for a break. I think she saw the red light flashing over my head indicating "overload" and decided to let it cool down for a while.

The girls ran to the bathroom, a few guys up to the cafe and the remaining ones to registration to see if they could be put in a more difficult class. (I was not in the latter group.) We purchased our caffeine of choice, joked at our progress and went back in with renewed determination or at least minimal resistance.

The second half continued with conversational questions and responses. John and I would quietly prompt the other if we were stuck during the individual pronunciation and recital portions. Others were doing it too so I didn't feel so bad.

Personalities were showing through as we looked around the room. Some of us were writing furiously on our new lined tablets purchased especially for class. Others were mooching paper and pencils because they were simply lucky to be there on time.

Aisha instructed us to dialog with other students putting together all those phrases that we had asked earlier in English and had now learned in Arabic. We turned to Jenny from America and Elly from Switzerland to begin conversing. We all took a deep breath, paused and started laughing because no one could remember how to greet. We flipped through our notes, found the phrase and started rehearsing like proud parrots. Our teacher eased by (like all teachers do) and listened to our interaction. We received a smile and a nod. The only thing I needed to complete my happiness was a smiley sticker for my shirt.

Eventally those awesome words "Goodbye. See you tomorrow," were spoken. We gave each other survival smiles and headed down the stairs.

I laughed and told John that this was tough stuff because I'm a visual learner and most of this is by hearing. Then I laughed even more and said that it must be hard to have to learn to chitchat in Arabic when my normally introverted husband doesn't even do that in English. He agreed.

We hailed a taxi and began the ride back to the flat. We were already planning our greeting to our security guard upon our arrival. However, once the taxi stopped and we began walking toward his station, I noticed I had left my new textbook and all my beautiful notes in the now-departed, never-to-be-seen-again transport. I sighed a deep sigh, looked at the security guard and couldn't remember a thing. I smiled and I waved as I have done every day and sulked all the way to our floor.

John promised he would share his notes which are now entered into the computer, organized and tabbed for quick reference.

I would tell you an Arabic goodbye as I close this note, but as in the Fitzgerald story, Benjamin Button eventually became so young that he had the mind of a 2 year old and could not process information like he could when he was an adult. Here's hoping I can reverse the process before it's too late.

Pam's first completed page of homework. I hope I get a gold star or smiley sticker.