Day 23

Three days down, 47 to go.

Yesterday wasn't a good day. Today was decent, but my first Tuesday I had to get to school at 7:15. No good day can start at 7:15. Well, zeroth hour went fine. I had "Lengua y Literatura" ([Spanish] language and literature). The material was actually surprisingly not as hard as I thought it would be, and my teacher seems nice. Monday's homework had been to write a reaction to a poem she had dictated (and I copied from the girl behind me) and to bring in a newspaper clipping about the earthquake in Chile. I wrote the reaction (and, if I say so myself, did a pretty awesome job of it, especially for SpanDict.com-ing every other word), but, as I said Monday, Dad disappeared with the car, so I couldn't go out and get a newspaper. Well, luckily for me, the kids in my class are much more considerate than Dad, and one of them had an extra clipping that she gave to me. That was lucky, because the whole class period was spent examining the newspaper articles. Questions such as "What is the article about?" and "What is the function of the article?". The teacher was sympathetic to me not knowing Spanish, but she had no idea how to say the words in English. Well, that went fine. First and second hour I had math. The first thing the teacher did was check our homework. Uh oh. I stammered some half-sentence about not having it, but she just asked me, "you're an exchange student right?" I understood the question, but I sort of muttered an answer. Yes, I am from the United States and will be living in Salta for a few months, but no, I did not come with an exchange program. She didn't wait for the long explanation I wasn't going to give her anyway. She turned to the student next to me, and he said yes. So, she wasn't sure quite what to do with me. "Did you understand the lesson?" Of course I understood the lesson. It was on linear functions. I did that in sixth grade. "Yeah, I understood most of it." "Um. (she's just looking for something to tell me to do at this point, she has no idea what to do with an exchange student) Did you take notes on it?" No. No offense professor, but that was hopelessly easy for an eleventh grader. "Um. No, I didn't." Now she knows what to do. "Ok, copy down what's on the board." I will. And tonight I will do my homework.

Fifteen minute break. I haven't yet remembered to bring money out with me so I can get food when people offer it to me.

Third and fourth periods: history. What I understood of what she said was that this was History II, from 1880 to present. And that we would need a portfolio, a syllabus, and a book. She had a discussion with the class rather than a lecture the first day, so I didn't listen quite as attentively.

Ten minute break. I don't remember who I was with, but during all of the breaks so far someone has invited me to join them.

My last class of the day was "Culture and Communication" (I do, by the way, have two classes with "Communication" in the title). The teacher hates me. It's only my first day in her class and she hates me. She was giving an opening lecture, and I was paying full attention. Suddenly I realized she was walking toward me with her arm outstretched (palm up, as if she was waiting for an answer). But I was still waiting for the question. She took a step towards me and opened her mouth. I raised my eyebrows in expectation for a question. Beat. She was stepping towards me. I was frozen. Beat. She raised her eyebrow and I realized she was waiting for me to say something. Not another beat when by before a dozen of my classmates suddenly burst out and told her all at once that my name was Sam Kennedy, I was an American, didn't speak much Spanish, and that she should ask me in English. She told them back that she didn't speak English and didn't care to. This class is in Spanish and she will ask her students questions in Spanish and expect them to answer in Spanish. They all stopped talking. I shrank in my seat. A couple of people told me to tell her my name. I did and she walked back to the front of the class. The class activity was a quiz-like thing. It was, of course, dictated, but I was lucky enough to get the sheet she read it from. I only finished about half of it before the bell rung. But when I turned it in and she saw it had Spanish written on it, she almost smiled. When I got in the car, Mom and Dad asked me why I was unhappy. Because I'm exhausted, I'm starving, and my teacher hates me. Lunch and a nap made me feel better. But I still wasn't looking forward to the next day.

The next was better. On Wednesdays I have all new classes: economics, English, religion, and "TIC"--Technology of Information and Communication. First/second: economics. I didn't understand very much of what she said (how many times have I said that now?). What I got was that I need a three-ring binder and what the first three pages should be (well, sort of. I understood once I SpanDict.com-ed). The English teacher was nice. When she found out who I was she told me she had had my sister in class and talked to me in (thank God!) English. But to the class, she unfortunately only spoke Spanish. She dictated to us the goals of the class and had us write the date in English at the top, which she helpfully wrote on the board: "March, Wednesday 3rd". I was holding back a laugh the whole time she was giving us the goals for the year. Next was religion. She spent the first part of the class telling us about her class and saying she wants us to be completely honest in her class. We spent the second part of class answering questions about what we thought of her class and our experiences in the school. So, I was completely honest. I said that didn't yet know what to think of her class and had very few experiences in the school. I don't think that was what she was looking for. I hope she was being completely honest in the first part of class. And my last class was "TIC", which stands for Technología de la Información y la Comunicación, and helpfully has the same abbreviation in English: Technology of Information and Communication. The teacher was a man, which surprised me. He is my only male teacher so far. He was very strict; he threatened people with disciplinary action multiple times for talking. He spent most of the class dictating out the year's syllabus. he didn't even finish. We're going to pick up next classtime where he left off. After class a very nice girl offered her notes for me to copy. I accepted with thanks. She asked if I needed help with anything else for our classes, and I stupidly said no. I have so many questions. For example, as far as I know, I am supposed to go to the snack bar, of all places, and ask for the syllabuses to my courses. This just seems weird to me. Well, two of my syllabuses are due tomorrow. I guess I'll find out then what I was supposed to have done.

But school is not all that bad. The students are very friendly and kind. They've all been very nice to me and some of them have said we should hang out. I hope so. I want some friends my age.

All right, that's all I have for you. Thanks for reading.

Oh, wait. That's not all I have. I can't miss this opportunity to make fun of Dad. I pointed out to Mom and Maggie about a week ago that whenever Dad realizes what someone is talking about, he says "¡Sí!" many, many times. We have since been counting the number of times Dad says "sí" in a row, and we have determined that his average is eight. Yes, eight. "Oh! Sí, sí, sí, sí, sí, sí, sí, sí!"