How is it that I was born and raised in south Florida where there's a big Cuban population and also spent the last 13-years in Texas and never had a legitimate opportunity to learn Spanish? Step back in time with me as I revisit my (educational) youth and see where I went astray.
Back in Florida I went to the same school from kindergarten through ninth grade. For some reason at this school there seemed to be emphasis on French. As early as fourth grade I remember having time each day, or maybe a few times a week, where Madame Ketchens would walk into the classroom. We'd all stand up and say, "Bonjour Madame." She'd reply, "Bonjour, mes enfants. comment allez-vous?" That's about all that stuck with me.
|Ralph Furley or Madame Karella?|