Ich Spreche Deutsch Nicht So Gut

I have been working on my Deutsch when I can. It’s coming, but not fast enough. It’s in my personality to crave immediate gratification and perfection. I want to be able to cite long dramatic monologues, keep up with gossip and events in our village newspaper, and be able to scan through school notices without having to look up every third word.

So far I can order soup and find a loo when I need to. Hey, it’s a start. I’ve had to tape my dictionary together because I take it everywhere. I learn something new every day. But I am to the point that I really need some structure. I need a framework of grammar on which to hang all of my newfound trophy words.

The kids are learning too. They are adapting to German schools far better than I had imagined they would. They are plenty smart. It’s just that it’s my job as their mom to worry about how they will cope with being the outsiders at school, left out of jokes and conversations. I worry that they will fall behind in German, and then in English. I worry about how they will fit in when they go back to America and realize that it doesn’t seem like their home anymore.

I remember that homeless feeling when I was a kid. We had returned from three years in Africa and I had to adapt to a Texas junior high school. I didn’t know what MTV or Nike shoes were. I didn’t fit neatly into a labeled category (Jock? Popular? Nerd? Old money? Ah, yeah, Band Geek.). I was just that weird kid with the accent. If I talked about Africa, it was considered bragging. So I learned not to mention the most formative three years of my life so that I wouldn’t stick out and be rejected. It was hell. But I digress.

Anyway, my kids are not me. I do my best to hide my anxieties, to not hand them my baggage. They seem happy and confident. They have each handled a bully successfully. A boy at the kindergarten tried to flush Luke’s spare clothes down the toilet. Luke said that instead of telling the teacher, he told the boy to stop and he did. I was proud. But I do wish he’d talk to the teachers more. He says that when they talk to him and he doesn’t understand he just says, “Okay” and walks away.

The bully at Claire’s school was a little girl who helped her draw a rainbow mural on her desk and told her that it was allowed. When Claire got in trouble the girl just laughed. Claire cleaned the desk (it took a long time) and I helped her to write a long letter of apology to her teacher in German. Since then she says she is polite to the girl but that she doesn’t interact with her. And best of all, she didn’t let it spoil her positive attitude about the school. She is still on the trial period where she goes only twice a week until summer break. But she has made friends with some sweet girls with whom she walks to school. Every time she comes home she has a new freunde buch (friendship book) to fill out. We’ve spent hours finding photos to paste in and translating the questions (What is your favorite book? What is your greatest wish?) and figuring out the answers in German. It’s a great way to get her to study.

Still, I worry. A month ago she told me that when she plays with a large group of kids who only speak German she feels “invisible.” I know exactly what she means. When I am not heard, not understood, I feel as if I am not seen either. I feel truly handicapped, as if I know what I want to say and where I want to go, but my limitations forbid it.

I imagine myself sounding really stupid when I speak German. It’s like when we watch “Jay Walking” on the Tonight Show where Leno asks people easy questions and they have no clue how to answer. Dave and I make fun of the stupid people, especially the teachers, who can’t even name our first president or find Africa on a map. But now when Germans ask me questions and I try to answer auf Deutsch, I imagine a big camera in my face broadcasting my broken, idiotic reply. And I imagine someone sitting on a couch, thinking, “Lord, that stupid lady needs to just go back to America…”

I hate feeling ignorant. I know that I’m a smart girl, but when I can’t get my ideas across, I may as well be an idiot. I wonder how anyone could possibly want to befriend me if they don’t understand my stories, my witticisms, my feelings? But come to think of it, maybe it's a good thing to learn to keep my mouth shut and listen for a change.

I do feel incredibly guilty when my German friends who speak good English have to speak my language to me instead of my speaking theirs. They are sweet about it, but in the back of my head I hear echoes of a few narrow-minded old men back home saying awful things like, “Those damn foreigners come to our country, and if they can’t speak our language they need to go home!” I always hated that attitude, but it embarrasses me that now I am one of those “damn foreigners”. I want to show respect for my host nation, to connect and make lifelong friends here. My worst fear is being branded “Ugly American.” Adapting is just a lot of work sometimes.

I try to teach my kids that ignorance is only a crime if you aren’t willing to correct it. I try to give them permission to make mistakes in the name of learning. I’m just struggling to practice what I teach. After all, there are plenty of days when I feel as though I am discovering clues and pieces to a magnificent puzzle each time I understand a new word in context. I just have to give myself a little grace while I learn this very hard language. (Lord, grant me patience, and hurry up about it!)

I think that the key for me is making some wonderful German friends. Ruth, a mom from the kindergarten, has invited us over for a barbecue. Our neighbor Zilka has had me over for coffee. We moms stand around and watch our kids play on our street. And Steffi has even invited me to join her bunko group. I had a blast on my first night. There were thirteen German women and me. Some spoke English with me, but mostly they spoke German. After a couple of glasses of wine my German was better (or at least I thought so). And by the end of the evening I was even understanding most of the jokes. I need to have more times like that where I can observe and interact in a friendly and forgiving environment where the stakes are low.

I just have to remember that this is a relatively short season in our family's history, that it is an opportunity to change our worldview and make lasting memories and friendships. And anyway, you just can’t beat the chocolate.