I was 21 years old, a new college graduate, just starting graduate school at Indiana University. Classes woudln't start until Monday; we were supposed to spend this week getting used to the gigantic campus that took 20 minutes to walk across. The library with stacks as big as a football field. Eigenmann Hall, the 13-story high graduate men's dormitory that housed more people than a small town, with its own snack bar, gym, and library. A 20-page brochure advertised every conceivable student club, from bird-watching to Marxism (no gay groups, of course).
On the Thursday before classes began, there was an International Student Mixer in the Eigenmann Hall Snack Bar. Come and meet your dorm mates from more than 20 countries! Everyone welcome! Refreshments provided!
Rock Island was very homogenous. Everyone's grandparents and great-grandparents were from Sweden, but there were no, or almost no recent immigrants. There were no international students at Augustana except for one guy from Sweden. I wanted to meet people from Argentina, Bolivia, Britain, Germany, India, Japan, Korea, Samoa, South Africa, Taiwan, Thailand, and Venezuela. I was there!
You know what happens at these functions, right? No international mingling. Everyone clung together with people from their own country, eating brownies and drinking punch and giggling and gossipping. They never even glanced at the students from other countries. .
And I was the only American, wandering around, pretending to be very interested in the announcements posted on the bulletin board, being rebuffed by the Brits, the Indians, the Japanese, and the Samoans like a ball in a foosball game.
I wasn't having it! I came here to meet people from different countries, and I was going to meet people from different countries! Besides, I hadn't met anyone gay on campus yet, and some of these guys were cute.
I chose four guys standing by the refreshment table, having an animated conversation in Spanish.
Today, when 13% of the population of the U.S. speaks Spanish, it is difficult to imagine the linguistic desert of the 1970s. In eight years of studying Spanish, I had never heard anyone speaking it in real life, never had a conversation in Spanish except with classmates (and a guy from church once). This was my opportunity.
I sidled up and pushed my way into the Spanish-speaking group. They stopped talking.
I looked at the leader, a tall, muscular guy about a foot taller than the others, smiled, and said "Hola!"
He glared at me. "Practicing your Spanish?"
Another thing about Spanish class -- we studied countless scenarios in which an American meets someone from Mexico or Peru or Spain, and they are always friendly, always eager to chat about the color of their socks or the difference between "ice" and "ice cream."
"Um...um..." I stammered. "People...um...like it when you take the trouble to learn their language. I...um...studied Spanish for eight years...I'm fluent...."
"That's great. What prize did you win?"
It occurred to me: he thought I was an "ugly American," looking down on his country, thinking he was stupid.
"Of course I know that you speak English," I said, not sure if I was more embarrassed or angry. "You have to speak English to enroll at this university. I was just trying to be friendly...trying to be nice."
Seeing a pale 21-year old kid trembling, almost in tears, the guy toned back his hatred a bit and started asking me questions. "Where are you from?", that sort of thing. I don't remember my answers. After a few minutes, I got out of there.
You're expecting this story to end with the guy inviting me back to his room for a night of sex.
Nope. I never saw him again. I never got his name, or the country he was from.
But I learned that people in the U.S. who are speaking a language other than English do not like you to chime in. They are not pleased that you speak their language. They consider it an insult. I'll do it only if they start the conversation in their language, or if they are obviously struggling with English.
But I learned that people in the U.S. who are speaking a language other than English do not like you to chime in. They are not pleased that you speak their language. They consider it an insult. I'll do it only if they start the conversation in their language, or if they are obviously struggling with English.
And over 30 years later, that "Practicing your Spanish?" rebuff still stings.
