The Spanish Class

Most of the time I think of myself as reasonably intelligent. I can read and comprehend virtually any book put in front of me. I can hold discussions over everything from how much a small metal bracket costs to a theoretically deep conversation on the relative merits of the arguments put forth by the creationists and evolutionists.
In the mail today was another reassurance. It was my congratulatory letter for being on the Dean's List last term. Sure, that was a bit of a downer because it means there was an ugly little "-" in front of my beloved A, but still it is an accomplishment the majority of my fellow students seldom if ever attain. Yes, I am egomaniacal enough to take pride in my GPA, in my membership in Phi Theta Alpha, and in my work. These things are true because...as I mentioned before...I like to think I am of at least average intelligence. Truth be told...I do believe I am above average.
That does not necessarily translate to fiscal success. I am not driven by money and never had been. As I mentioned to one of my friends tonight, it was nice to know I was granted a raise today...it is simply unfortunate I do not know how much of a raise it was. I seldom look at my paycheck...I know how much I get AFTER the 401K and taxes, but not before. It is enough for me to eat, drive, catch an occasional hockey game, and hang with my friends with all my bills paid. Anything past that is just gravy.
Ambition is good for some people but not all. I used to have ambition, although it was largely directed towards competitive endeavors. I was a pretty good basketball player, a decent baseball player, and a below average golfer. In every case, I was the best of my little group, though. When we played basketball I would frequently play one on three...and win by 10 - 15 points going to 21. That was because of my competitive drive. I HAD to win. I would go to insane lengths to win. At least three times I continuted playing for a couple hours after spraining my ankle badly enough it would take weeks to get back to walking right.
The other place I have ambition, and this ambition I still have, is in doing well the things I do. I bust my smurf to do a good job at work. I like to think that every day the complany made more money because I was there than they would have if I was not there. I try to make sure every customer goes away satisfied and thankful they called me instead of the competition.
I never wanted to go back to school. I was happy with my life. But since I was married at the time and wanted to make my wife happy, I went. The idea was to get a much higher paying job so she could have all the materialistic things she wanted.
Now that she is thankfully gone, I pretty much need to finish anyway. So even though I do not want to be there, you can bet your bottom dollar I am going to do the best job I possibly can in school. That is where my ambition comes in. I may not want to be there, but since I am my expectation is a pocket full of A's. And regardless of the subject matter, I feel intelligent enough to pull it off.
That is, until I hit Spanish. Tonight was the first night of a new term. It is only 103. Spanish is partially a labor of love. My little sister married a guy who seems pretty special. He happens to be Mexican. Most of his family lives deep in the heart of Mexico. And it is important to me to connect with him and his family. I had to take a language, Spanish seemed the natural fit.
I work hard at it. I make and run the flashcards. I study the textbook. I watch movies in Spanish. I listen to the Spanish radio and cds almost exclusively. I read the Spanish paper. I even get together with classmates outside of class to practice it. When you consider I went three years at school without learning the name of a single classmate, you realize what a huge step that is for me.
So why is it that of all the classes I have had, this one is the first to make me feel like an idiot? Every Monday and Wednesday I feel absolutely imbecilic for an hour and a half. I am frustrated, irritated...yes, even angry.
I do not understand the instructions. I don't understand the exercises. I don't understand the "flow" or theory of the language. They call it "immersion". I call it "drowning". The instructor looks at my scores in the high 90 percentiles and tells me how well I am doing. Other students hear some of the words I know and are impressed. Even my sister thinks I am remarkably advanced. But they don't get it.
I know on every level that it doesn't make sense. Half the words I use are guesses, if not at the word itself then certainly at the content. It has been decades since I studied tenses in English...how the smurf am I supposed to know what they are talking about in Spanish? Infinitive? Reflexive? D'oh! And worst of all...I never know what I am supposed to know and what is unimportant.
As an example, for the final for the first term I could tell you the names for every family relationship, every day of the week, the months, the seasons, every conceivable article of clothing, and so forth. Here comes the test...and of the stuff I thought was so important, almost none of it was on the test. Instead, I was supposed to know what months were part of what seasons. I don't know that for sure in English, I certainly did not think it was important in Spanish. Who cares if enero is Winter or Spring? It is cold either way!
There is no clue in the textbook as to what is important and what isn't. The instructors don't want to "teach to the test", so with a limited amount of time to study, we are just supposed to learn everything? Doesn't that run counter to the aim stated in the textbook, to not worry about learning it, simply acquire it naturally? Every person sees different things as important.
That feeds into one of the problems with our school system. It assumes every student learns the same way and also that tests have some bearing on what someone has actually learned. If you believe either of those statements you deserve the pocket picking some online tuba salesman is going to give you.
Here I have clearly mounted one of my hobby horses, so I will close off here. But here is hoping I figure out a way to make the hardest class I have ever had make sense. I wish I could write a hundred page paper instead of take even one class period more of Spanish. I know someday it will be worth it, but I hope I never forget the struggle it is for me now so that if and when I myself try to teach others, regardless of the subject, I will have some sort of empathy for those for whom school is always this tough.