(my name is king boy!) or, (me talk pretty one day)

My first afternoon here in Kleinmachnow, Anne and I went on a pleasant walk around the neighborhood. It didn't take us long to find a woody area, where Anne explained that the Berlin city limit was. So we stepped right over into Berlin proper, and proceeded to a playground busy with after-school activity. Naturally, we made a beeline for the swing set, shoved our adult-sized hips into the rigid child-sized seats, and started pumping as we talked. Our exotic-sounding English soon drew a small crowd of little boys. They were bold in their anything-but-discreet fascination, and it wasn't long before one of them (Dennis) finally plucked up the courage to make contact with these linguistic aliens. "What's your name!" It was more declaration than inquiry, but we answered and thus broke the spell of silent interest that had captivated our audience. For the next few moments, a chorus of "What's your name"s filled the air as the other boys followed Dennis' lead and tried their tongues at the bizarre sounds they had been learning in English class.  Anne and I interrupted them with our own questions every so often, which is how I know that the first boy was Dennis. This encouraged them to try out "My name is" combined with a few more familiar phrases that had made enough of an impression on the boys to stick: 

"My name is KING BOY!"

(pleased snickers all around)

"My name is Castle king!"

(more giggling)

"My name is Cowboy!"

Etc. 

Since then, I've thought often of the boys and their unmitigated amazement and enthusiasm upon realizing that silly sounds learned in a classroom could actually mean something to someone from far away. That feeling doesn't get old, and it's not just for kids--it's a unique experience that figures heavily in my own interest in the study and "mastery" foreign languages. 

In my four days here, surrounded by German and Germans, I have had the opportunity to be reminded just how much I have in common with Dennis and the gang at the playground. It's why, despite knowing how slowly I speak with a heavy accent after only two semesters of beginning German, I feel totally in my element contributing my own "What's your name"s and the like into the conversations around me. 

"Can you me please give the potatoes?"

"I have two suitcase. One suitcase came with me but one suitcase went to Dublin."

"We went to the airport but not a person was there for help us."

"Can I look the bottle, please?"

I like to think that my German hosts are as pleased to hear me enjoy trying to speak their language as I was to speak with the boys at the park. I suppose (at least with German), cuteness is a better fate than inertness--even though I know if I got better, I would soon begin to hate being seen as "cute"--the same way I hate it now when I'm speaking French, and Anne hates it when she's speaking English ;)