| Lost in Translation |
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| Written by OHmommy | |
| Tuesday, 01 July 2008 19:00 | |
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Last night, on our Chicago vacation, my father and I took all three kids on an evening walk around the neighborhood. Lola was "tired" and convinced my father to push her in a stroller and I pushed Fifi in her stroller while Jay kept up with us. It was desperately close to bed time and I tried my hardest to keep Fifi up, by pointing to every bird, chipmunk, dog, and sprinkler within a mile radius. We walked past the train tracks that unloaded commuters from the city, walked past the gates of Ravinia (the oldest outdoor musical hall in the USA), walked past Frank Loyd Wright's original residence on the shores of Lake Michigan. And then, we walked past a simple woman with her dog. "Hello." She greeted us. "Hi. Perfect evening for a stroll, isn't it?" I smiled. "Absolutely. It is a perfect night." She replied. Such an ordinary exchange of words between neighbors on a pleasant summer night. Jay ran to catch up with me. I could see that he was thinking about something, wondering, and processing it all. I could see it in his inquisitive eyes. "What's up, Jay?" "Do you know that woman? Is she from Cleveland?" "No. I believe she lives here, in Chicago, and is just taking her dog out." "So, she is not from Cleveland?" "No. Why?" "Well she was talking in Cleveland. She wasn't talking in Chicago." It was my turn to process what he was talking about. I thought about it, before answering. Ah ha, we had just spent the day in the children's museum that was over run by nannies from across the globe. Each of them conversing in their native tongues. We had just spent the last five days in a house where English is rarely ever spoken. All of the adults catching up in native Polish. Being in Chicago is much more of an ethnic celebration than one would encounter in Cleveland. The ordinary encounter with the neighbor was so typical of something that would happen in Cleveland. "Oh, honey. Cleveland, Chicago, New York and so many other cities are all part of the United States, like the map you have on your bedroom wall. We all speak English. Some of us, like me, were born in different countries. I was born in Poland. I speak Polish. But we all speak English." "I speak Polish. Mówię po polsku." My stubborn father contributed. Jay looked up at me and I was happy that the connection was made. He looked like he understood. A mere 10 minutes later, two cyclists stopped in front of us. "Excuse me, where is the Chicago to Green Bay bike path? We seemed to get off course." He adjusted his spandex shorts, not that I was looking. "Two blocks west of here and parallel to the train tracks." I pointed west and shifted my eyes north. "Thank you Ma'am." Ma'am? MA'AM? Checking over my end-of-the-day outfit I realized that in fact I did look like a ma'am. I hardy noticed Jay tugging at my stained tank top. Jay witnessed the encounter and had an affirmation. "I know, I know, they were asking for directions. I understood what he said.... they are obviously speaking Clevelandish." He confirmed. "I speak Polish. Mówię po polsku." My father confirmed as he pushed Lola in her stroller, through the multicultural streets of the North Shore. |
