It was a couple of weeks after Mother’s Day. You’ve really got to get busy studying your Spanish, I thought. I had just put my grandchildren Yelena and Mason down for their nap.
All my life, I’d wanted to learn Spanish. I finally took a class when I was 56 years old. I enjoyed it, but I didn’t learn as quickly as I’d hoped. I just couldn’t find the time to study. Yelena and Mason kept me too busy. And when they went home with their mom, I was too exhausted to open my textbook. Lord, I’d often pray, you’ve got to help motivate me.
Instead of studying, I did things like watch TV with Yelena. In one of her favorite cartoons, Dora the Explorer, the lead character speaks Spanish words and phrases. I had trouble following even those basics.
Maybe learning another language wasn’t worth the bother. Besides, there was always something more important I had to be doing. Like getting ready for my family’s traditional Mother’s Day celebration.
I went to Alabama, where my 83-year-old mother lived. I didn’t know how many more holidays we’d be able to spend together. Fifty of my relatives showed up that day. We all crowded into the living room, talking, laughing and singing. I wanted to preserve this moment. “We should tape ourselves,” I said.
My nephew Chris piped up: “I’ve got a recorder! Hang on.” He dashed out of the room, came back and set up his machine. Together we sang Mom some of her favorite songs.
Afterward, Chris handed me the cassette. “Don’t worry about giving it back,” he told me. “There’s nothing else on there except me messing around with my guitar.”
Now, back home two weeks later, I remembered the tape. I put it on. First I heard my family sing, then it was Chris playing his guitar. The music stopped. Chris spoke. “Tres cuarenta siete. The time is three forty-seven.” Chris practicing Spanish? It was almost as if he were telling me I needed to practice too. But, Lord, where will I find the time?
I looked at the clock on the stove. Right now. It was 3:47 P.M.
