Life in the village There’s an old woman in this town, and every time I walk past her she seems to be screaming at her husband. And always, she stops yelling at him to turn to me, smile and say, “Salve.” She then immediately goes back to screaming at the poor man. That’s the kind of odd, friendly place this is. This is life, but it feels like camp. My appreciation and understanding for multi-linguistic people has progressed immensely since the day when I pulled my brother’s 5th grade classmate Sam, a South Korean, out of his class and dragged him through the elementary school hallways to interpret for a new Chinese student who was stumping the public school teachers. I recall, in first grade, literally tugging this poor kid by his coat, saying something like,
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