Frequently when we are out and about with the babies, people take the liberty of making the kinds of comments that we are not supposed to hear, but that we do, anyway. Our first trip to the Galleria, I heard "Wowzers!" from a 30-something daddy type when he noticed both Matt and I carrying tiny babies. And I have heard many variations of "Oh-my-God-look-TWINS!" in English and Spanish. And even Russian, in fact. I know this because the one English speaker of the group grilled me on behalf of his friends. "How old?" "Your first?" "Their names?"
I don't, however, need a translator if somebody is talking about me in Spanish. Galleria pilgrims from Mexico, and fellow Houstonians who think the Spanish language comes in one color (brown), let me tell you: I hear you, and I understand you.
I used to get annoyed at the fact that you talked about my little tribe in your preferred tongue without even bothering to whisper. "Hell-o," I would think. "I know what you're saying!" But this time was different.
Today, Matt and I wore the babies, as usual, while taking a late afternoon walk through Houston's see-and-be-seen pseudo-plaza, the Galleria. A mother pushing a large stroller walked alongside a man holding a toddler, his arms sagging with the weight. The mother nodded my direction and snorted to her husband in Spanish, "Look! They have two and they make it look easy!" I laughed.
That was a real compliment. She didn't know that I would understand her, so she wasn't trying to be polite or gratuitous in her observation. She meant it.
So, Spanish speakers, go ahead. Say whatever you want. I'll pretend that I'm not understanding you. I've decided I like knowing what you really think.
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