I've come full-circle

Here is a picture of me when I was little. Yes, I'm the one on the right.

Photo Credit: Maddi Wachs

These are the visible details: I had glasses, liked to eat (messily), and was raised by parents who didn't know how to dress or accessorize a girl.

What is not pictured was my odd obsession for office supplies and fake education. For one of my youngish birthdays, my friend Laura (middle)--with the obvious help of her mom--bought me a box filled with every kind of office supply imaginable: sticky notes, whiteboard and pens, clips, notebooks, binders, mini staplers and tape dispensers. . . . It was Office Depot, compacted. After witnessing such euphoria upon opening this present, my parents must have been more than a touch concerned for how I'd turn out.

With these newfound supplies, I opened my own schoolhouse in my bedroom. I created the persona of Ms. Basil, teacher and dictator by profession (and lover of herbs...?). I subjected my sister and mother to spelling and math, and found it necessary to criticize my 3-years-elder sister on her addition. It was not uncommon in this one-bedroom schoolhouse for the lessons to end in tears, as I found it utterly disrespectful that my mom and sister should talk amongst themselves instead of listen to my explanation on the correct spelling of "though." I'm sure these classes were the rare exception when my dad was glad to have a grueling commute and workday--anything to avoid the wrath of Ms. Basil.

But those early years proved formative. I opened my inbox today and found out my placement as a teacher's assistant in Spain: Zorroza Secondary School, Bilbao. How ironic that Ms. Basil will be making a comeback, though this time hopefully without the use of corporal punishment that my mom and sister fell victim to.

the person I'm becoming

Have I hit rock bottom?

I'm officially EXCITED to do research for a paper I'm writing, on the grammar of the subjunctive mood in English. Gulp.

I can see it now . . . . I start off as a relatively normal girl, surrounded by friends. Together we enjoy watching shows like The Mindy Project and making fun of pretentious academics. Then I glance at a blog here or there, start getting interested in writing and language. Think maybe I'll postpone the real world for a year by teaching English. Realizing I need to actually learn details of English, I sign up for a grammar class. Earn a few university credits, stop by the library to do some research.

My show preferences begin to change....less New Girl and Grey's Anatomy, more 60 Minutes and PBS. I stay in on a Friday night, opting to do some light reading "for a class." Find myself absorbed in the nuances of verbs. I don't mind the extra pounds the library book adds to my backpack--they just feel right.

College passes. I buy a cat, or two or three. I obsessively seek out immigrants just so I can hear their take on learning English. A tall and attractive man asks me out (despite the spinster I've become), but I turn him down because his response to my greeting is "I'm good" instead of "I'm well." At least I have the cats.

And suddenly I'm the universally hated grammarian, trying to teach all the rowdy students the correct placement of commas. I find solace only in my worn copies of British novels, a steaming mug of chamomile, and my gently purring felines.

prepositions

Prepositions (those little words like on, at, before, with, as, for . . . ) are often the most difficult part of any language for new learners to grasp. For instance, why do we say "John is waiting for you AT the bus stop," "He's waiting IN line," and "He's waiting for you ON the street?" (Yes, of course there is a very detailed linguistic explanation, but they're all places, for heaven's sake!) I am dreading having to teach the nuances of these little words to some unsuspecting, wide-eyed Spanish student.

In fact, prepositions are single-handedly the source of all my negative feelings towards German, and if I decide to give up and stop studying the language, I will have only them to blame.

But here is one argument in defense of their importance (and the dire consequences of getting them wrong):