Phase Four

A couple of weeks ago, I blogged about how I had hired a tutor as Phase Three of Operation Interpreter in which my children would learn to speak Spanish.  At the time of that post, the tutor had been here a day, and she and I were both optimistic.

On Day 2, Benjy participated for 20 minutes until he began sobbing hysterically under the table.

On Days 3 and 4, Benjy didn't even come to class, and Jacob was looking for anything to distract himself.  I'm pretty sure I caught him counting the tiles on the floor, in English no less, just to avoid actually learning any Spanish.

On Day 5, I enrolled Jacob in summer camp and said adios and lo siento to the tutor.

Summer Camp, or Phase Four (I'm not giving up on this plan), started on Monday.  According to everyone, summer camp totally in Spanish would be the best and most fun way to introduce Jacob to the language.  I'm told, again by everyone, that it's very important for him to have a positive experience when learning a new language or he could forever be scarred and never attempt learning another language again.  Talk about pressure.  I certainly didn't want that for my kid, so I got in the car and headed over to camp headquarters to enroll him.

I was on my way to the ATM to get pesos when my panic attack set in.  What was I doing?  I was going to throw my kid into a Spanish immersion camp where they would be taking field trips in Tijuana, which I've heard is super dangerous.  He loses focus when people are barking orders at him in English.  How was he going to keep up in Spanish?  I had visions of him lost and alone wandering around a water park with no way to communicate and no way to call home.  Or worse, kidnapped for ransom, since he would be easily picked out of a crowd of Mexican children with his fair skin and blond hair.  Gasping for air, I turned the car around and headed home.  There was no way  I was going to lose my baby just so he could learn a foreign language no matter what anyone else's opinion on the matter was.

So how did I finally reconcile myself to actually enrolling him in camp?  Well, I asked the school a million questions until I was finally assured of the safety and security precautions they would be taking with my beloved firstborn and they were assured that I was definitely neurotic.  I was still super nervous when I dropped him at the door on Monday morning, but I had faith that he would be okay and he would have fun.  I was even hoping he might learn a little Spanish, since Phase Five (enroll him in a local school for second grade in which half of his day will be taught in Spanish) is scheduled to commence in about seven weeks.  

When I picked Jacob up at the end of the day, I anxiously questioned him about all his activities.  He'd played soccer, cooked a pizza, made a coat hanger and had a fantastic day.

"Did you understand what they were telling you? Did you learn any Spanish?" I asked.

With a sly grin as if he'd outwitted me once again, he said, "They spoke to me in English."

Seriously? He needs a swim cap?  Not the one we bought.