How I Nearly Killed my Husband in Language Class

by Shannon Jamison

Before we began classes we sought advice from other Foreign Service couples who had attempted language instruction together. Some of them honestly said, "Don’t do it!" However, my husband and I both agreed that it was important for my psychological comfort level to be able to speak the language as best as I could possibly learn it. Furthermore the only way I could take as many classes as my husband was through a 2-for1 deal at a private language school. (We’ve got to get the language regulations changed, spouses!!)

Our decision made to try classes together, we listened to other couples who were more encouraging. "Focus on your individual strengths. We found one of us was better at vocabulary (or reading or everyday conversation) and the other was better at grammar (or speaking or political discussions), so we each had an area in which we excelled." This seemed like great advice; unfortunately, my husband was better than I was at every aspect of learning the language: grammar, vocabulary, accent, speaking, reading, everything!

I wasn’t really surprised; I already knew I had a major language disability.

My basic problem is that my brain is language-resistant. Even I was amazed at the mental roadblocks is created to prevent me from learning new words and grammar. For one thing, words from the last language I’d attempted kept kept popping out of my mouth—and even words from languages I’d only heard in the movies appeared. These were words I could never have thought of if I’d actually wanted to speak those other languages, but trying to learn a new language, I remembered things I didn’t even know I knew! Then when I actually thought I might be mastering a few of the fundamentals, I would be asked to conjugate a simple verb (I mean really basic like "to be") and my language-resistant brain would just go blank—totally, completely, absolutely blank like when your computer says "NO FILE FOUND." It was humiliating.

Of course it’s the little things in a language that mean a lot. One Monday morning in class our teacher said in Romanian (or at least I thought she said), "For a long time we haven’t seen…" and she stopped. She looked at me, I looked at her and tried desperately to think of something we hadn’t seen for a long time.

She looked at me and said, "Yes? You understand?" I looked at her and repeated what I thought she’d said. "For a long time we haven’t seen…" I trailed off. What hadn’t we seen in a long time? Comprehension crossed her face. "Ah no! For a long time we haven’t seen each other!" Comprehension crossed my face (at last!). In Romanian, "each other" is a teeny, tiny little two-letter pronoun—which I had totally missed. Some days I just knew I should have stayed in bed.

Then there were those moments when my abysmal ignorance took on the overtones of absurd comic theater. I actually had conversations with my teacher in which she said, "Do you use flour in this recipe?" and I managed to reply, "Yes, I bought clothes yesterday." If two words were even remotely similar, I would confuse them constantly, leading to sentences like "How does your new house defend?" instead of "How does your new house appear?" Fortunately, at those times, my teacher and I could both just laugh until I cried.

What I wouldn’t have given to have been able to have learned the language as happily as my husband did—but listening to his teachers sing his praises from day to day went from irritating to aggravating to nauseating. His success only made me feel stupid, and most days I could have cheerfully stuffed the exercise book down his throat. I didn’t understand how he could like this stuff, when for me language class amounted to a daily dentist appointment.

Furthermore, I think a subconscious "dependent spouse" inferiority complex lurked in my heart and language lessons really dragged it out of the closet. I felt like a second-class student because our lessons, and even our reasons for learning, all revolved around my husband and his job. And I can’t really blame our teachers for responding to my husband’s enthusiasm; obviously it’s easier to teach students who don’t have the language disability I do.

I think my final grade (like the ones they used to give for handwriting) should be an "E"—not for excellence but for effort. I tried, and I speak more Romanian and am happier to be in Romania for having tried. My most precious lesson, however, is the knowledge that my marriage is strong enough to have survived language class together. Hey, at least I’m not "happily ever after" disabled too!

©1993 Shannon Jamison. All Rights Reserved.