I stood there between the banners absolutely speechless. I not only couldn’t remember my Castellano, I was so petrified I couldn’t remember my English either. I tried to speak but nothing came out except a little drool and spanglish. I muttered something like “Muchas gracias por having me tonight.” The audience stared at me like I was the only human in a batcave, with hundreds of beedy little eyes peering at me. All I wanted to do was run away.
When they asked me to teach this class here in Iquique, the tourist town near our ranch, I thought they were crazy. Yes, I’ve taught in Universities, as well as in the private sector for over thirty years – but that was always in English, my native tongue. Being able to think on your feet and formulate cogent sentences in a foreign language takes some skill and bravery, both of which I was seriously lacking when it came to my broken, horrible Castellano.
I was not confident in my Spanish because I had already butchered our beautiful language beyond recognition many times before. Some of these embarrassing moments included:
- Mistakenly calling ‘pendones’ a word for pubic hair (pendejas).
- Errantly referring to people coming with gifts (con dones) as condoms (condones).
- Not realizing that in Chile “tanga” means underwear, not sandals.
Put those three mistakes together in one sentence and I guarantee you will offend someone!
People have fun with my bad Spanish as well. One day a friend of mine at the gym called me “huevon”. Having not heard the term before, I asked him if that was a good friendly word to use with people, and he smiled and said “yes, absolutely.” So as my professora Waleska encouraged us to do when you are trying to increase your vocabulary, I went out to the front desk and tried my new word on the female receptionist. “Hey huevon!” I said, “Que onda?” She replied with a glare that could stop a clock “What did you call me?” she said angrily. I knew then I’d been part of joke, and n the background I could hear my friend laughing uncontrollably.
For these reasons and many others my confidence in teaching a class in the Spanish language was pretty low. Why I agreed to do it is beyond me, but I did agree to it, and there I was, standing between two banners with a podium in front of 120 people, with my fear rising, and my knees knocking.
The last time I saw bones shivering like that was when our daughter was trying to learn how to snorkel. She was born in Los Angeles California near the beach, and is a real surf-girl, but she had never tried snorkeling, so she decided to try it here in Iquique.
So we went to Terminal, bought her a used wetsuit, and took our fins and equipment to the beach near the balernario. I’ve been scuba diving since 1975 so getting past the waves out into the calm waters was second-nature to me. But I had forgotten how claustrophobic and scary a wetsuit can feel when waves are crashing around you. I looked back at Tali and saw that she had stopped, frozen really, with the water up to her chest and waves pounding her.
“You have to get past that spot, hija” I said, “and come out further where it’s calmer!”
“I can’t, daddy,” she exclaimed, fighting back tears. “I keep seeing these huge waves coming and I don’t want them to knock me over!”
I saw now that she was shivering, with her knees trembling from fright and she had stopped walking. She wasn’t moving - Not a good thing your first time out. Knowing that this could ruin her snorkeling experience for life, I knew I had to do or say something.
“Tali,” I said loudly but calmly, “Look this way. Do you see how calm it is out here where I am? It’s only 5 meters away. Focus on this calm water out here, and come on out. You can do it, Tali!” I exclaimed as positively as I could.
Just then a huge wave came crashing over her, almost ripping the mask off her head. I didn’t want to show panic, but I was beginning to doubt that this was a good idea. But I gave it one more try.
“You can do it.” I said again, with a voice that sounded pretty weak, and less confident than I wanted. But apparently, years of experience told my daughter that if her Dad believed she could do something, and if her Dad said she could do something, then she believed it herself, and would do it.
I watched her take a deep breath, gird her resolve, and then do exactly that, taking big steps into the water, ignoring the waves around her. Thirty seconds later we were enjoying the calm waters away from the turbulence. What made the difference? Four little words of encouragement.
John Maxwell tells the story of the time at an airport, he arrived late, and asked for an emergency exit row seat to accommodate his large legs and frame. The agent for the airline told him that she couldn’t possibly switch his seat, that late in the boarding process. Maxwell simply said three words: “Sure you can!” The agent for the airline then explained in more detail why she couldn’t switch his seat, citing regulations, the timing, and many other valid reasons, again telling him that she couldn’t possibly switch his seat.
Maxwell again said “Oh, sure you can!” with a big smile.
This went on something like four times, when finally, the woman said, “Well, you’ve been so nice, I guess I could switch your seat manually.” And Maxwell got the leg room he so desperately needed.
An encouraging word enables people to do things that they normally wouldn’t do. A positive affirmation allows people to believe in the positive, rather than the negative. A simple “you can do it” can change the course of history. President Obama is in the White House today because he believed it when his friends said, “Oh yes you can be President.”
As I looked at the audience glaring at me, I felt the fear in my belly. Like my daughter feeling the waves crashing over her, at that moment I was completely frozen. I had zero confidence, and it probably was evident on my face, for at that critical moment, an angel arrived in the form of my wife.
She stepped closer past the banners and signs, to whisper in my ear:
“You can do this.,” she said confidently.
That’s all it took. Four little words, and I was fine. The fear vanished. My Spanish, poor as it was, returned. I was able to teach that class.
But not with absolutely perfect Spanish.
Looking at the banners on stage that crowded me, I said, “Before we begin, could someone please help me move these pubic hairs?”
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