Lost in Translation

I teach children whose first language is Spanish.  Sometimes when they are talking to me in English they call me Teacher.  I never thought anything of it, because I know that they are just translating from Spanish Maestra.  In many cultures, including those of my students, a teacher is held in high esteem.  Just as you would call your physician Doctor, you address a teacher as Maestro or Maestra. Years after the children have left my classroom, their parents still call me Maestra when we run into each other at the grocery store. Recently, I realized to non-Spanish speaking teachers this form of address seems odd and maybe even disrespectful. The intention of showing respect and honor is lost in translation.  

When my family first arrived in the US in the late 70's, my parents found it odd that friends whom they knew personally, who had eaten dinners at our house, would call and ask for me by simply saying: Is Susan there? or Can I talk to Susan? Without hello, without how are you.  If the friend had been a fellow Iranian the conversation would have gone something like this:

-Hello, Mr. Ahmadi? This is Fariba.  How are you? How is Mrs. Ahamdi? Everything good?  Your health? Mrs. Ahamdi's health?  I hope I haven't called at a bad time.  Please forgive me, is Susan there? Can I please talk to her?

My American mother-in-law found all these pleasantries annoying!  Why don't Persians just get to the point? She would say.  All that courtesy and consideration was lost in translation.

It makes me wonder, how often we pass judgement on each other because we simply do not speak the same cultural language? How can we overcome this tendency to define things by our own personal dictionary, written by our nationality, race, religion, gender or even personal experiences? Maybe instead of a dictionary we need a translator.  A translator that is activated by curiosity and a genuine desire for understanding. We also need more grace.  Instead of assuming the worse, what if we assumed the possibility of a different explanation?  Last weekend, I walked into a bakery, spent a few minutes looking at the various displays and then walked up to the counter with my selection.  It was only then the cashier told me they were not open yet.  I was baffled as to why she would not tell me that when I walked in?  I have been thinking about that encounter all week, wondering if my irritation was uncalled for because there was another explanation. 

Then there are all those times when we completely understand each other, despite our vast differences.  My daughter's first friend was a Korean boy she met at her preschool in Venezuela.  Neither one of them spoke Spanish.  Neither one of them spoke the other's language.  We also turned out to be neighbors in the same apartment building.  One day, the little boy and his mom were locked out of their apartment.  Despite the language barrier, I was able to help her call her husband.  As a token of appreciation, she brought me a platter of Korean noodles.  It was delicious!  In my culture, you don't return a platter empty.  So I took it back filled with Persian rice.  That gesture was perfectly understood by both of us.