When I was in first grade–a million years ago–they sat a new girl next to me who only spoke Spanish. She chatted away as if I completely understood every word she said. At last, when there was a break in the jabber, for some odd reason I rattled off a page and a half of gibberish. No, no…I mean, “Blucky bluck nanner neener geber, doody snoo.”
I have no idea why I did it, but she smiled and nodded her head like she’d understood every word and then “answered” me back in another barrage of Spanish. Not knowing what to do, and being only 6-1/2 years old–I tried my linguistic skills again.
“Toader moder linny googer waggle haggle doop.”
Again she smiled and nodded and spoke back in Spanish.
Gubble nooble feedo meely sacky spickle pooky foo.
This went on for about 10 minutes–the foreigner and the fraud. Actually, I think I came to believe that somehow, I must in reality, be speaking Spanish. No idea what I was saying, but what did it matter? She understood me!
Maybe I was MAGIC. Coooool!
Then, from across the room, the teacher who was watching us having an obviously delightful conversation together came over and said, “Oh, Launi– I’m so glad you speak Spanish. Please tell Rosa to go hang up her coat.”
I saw no open window that I could rationally jump through and plunge to my death. So with no other choice available to me, I dove under the desk and proceeded to bawl my head off.
Alas, my magic gift of tongues never came back.
pooder pokey doo.