Love in Translation

I volunteer as an English teacher (no training) for non-native speakers. This summer, I’m leading a book club (Tuesdays With Morrie) on Tuesday evenings. Don’t you just love when things turn out like so?

My summer camp counselor habits, namely playing favorites, are also characteristic of my teacher self. If you saw hombre (Brazilian student I like a whole lot), you’d understand. He’s a tall, painfully attractive, quadri-lingual beauty with a soccer player’s physique (he plays) and an ability to make me question if I need knee replacement surgery.

During this past Tuesday night’s class, I instructed the students to partner up for an activity. There were seven in attendance, so I advertised my availability to be someone’s partner – “Who wants me?”

“I want you,” says hombre.

Yes, I need new knees and a back brace if I’m to remain vertical.

The activity involved making a timeline and noting pivotal life events from birth through the present that shaped who they are today, in an attempt to demonstrate Morrie’s belief that you are every age up to your own; a 78 year old man still has parts of his 5 year old self intact inside.

Ok, then this evening I’m unearthing my boy crazy adolescent self with a surplus of hormones. Not to much the story of my life.

When hombre reached age 25 on his timeline, I noted, “you beat me,” as that evening I was two days shy of turning 24.

He said that we were 10 years apart – a healthy distance, I affirm in my head. Hombre also said that I was the same age as his younger sister.

Ohhh no. Don’t do that to me. Don’t put me in the little sister category; I’m your teacher and I can tell you what to do. If only “Kiss me now” was an appropriate pedagogical command.