My house is full of folks who speak in broken English. It amazes me that contractor comes in and speaks his fractions and instructions for the day in Spanish. The amusement on their faces is not hidden.
I'm getting they are all related somehow...brothers, dads, cousins and they all came from Mexico. They are artisans and they know exactly what to do and how to do it even though their tape measures are American and their leader is but practicing his Spanish.
They speak to me in English, but when I answer back, I can tell they don't really get what I'm saying.
Peep and I were laughing at this same concept brother peep uses when visiting Mexico. The minute his plane lands, he begins to use his "Spanish" and this makes it so painfully apparent that he is from America. He is saying in essence...I am a Tourist. For. SURE!
Yesterday Eddy was politely telling my why the crystal sconces I purchased needed to be...well actually I'm not sure what he was saying about them...and frankly neither was he. And then it hit me. It is much like a situation where he is talking in a language that he's practicing on someone that knows it, but when I talk back to him...he doesn't understand it enough to really hear or digest it.
Wow...isn't that just the trouble...universally?
I talk....but when I get the response...many times I'm not really listening and therefore not really hearing.
I don't know if I will change, but it was a pretty good lesson to realize anyway.
And Eddy? Well...he doesn't need to listen to me...he knows what he's doing! And I'm pretty sure I gave his sister my kitchen cabinets the first of May.