Awww

By the end of this short message, be prepared to say the title again.

When I was a little girl and would go on trips with dad to South Texas to visit his side of the family, I didn't have much to say. I'm not talking about how I couldn't talk because I was a baby, but the times when I'd learned past the prattle and constructed legitimate sentences. Even at an early age, I recognized the disconnect between my great-grandparents and me.

They only spoke one language, and it wasn't English.

Entering middle school, I was quick to take up the 2-year Spanish program, even if it meant that I only learned how to conjugate verbs in the present tense and vocabulary centering on grocery lists and introducing yourself. But I was proud to prepare those flashcards, eager to study for every quiz and yes, be the Spanish aide my second year for first year students.

It all boiled down to that question the teachers would make you answer the first day of class: why do you want to learn Spanish in the first place?

Here was my advantage over other kids. I had family members, my very own flesh and blood, with whom I could not converse. And that was motivation for a long while, until the great-grandparents passed away.

No, that wasn't the only reason I stopped taking Spanish after freshmen year of high school, but it was a factor. Then, it never really hit me until planning for Argentina that learning Spanish wasn't all for naught. My grandmother is bilingual; how cool would it be if we could speak in her first language? What if I could actually respond with a gasp while watching telenovelas together only to find Miguel cheating on Francesca?

When I went to Iguazu Falls, I decided to send some postcards, and was intentional upon writing in Spanish to Grandma Zulema. Just today, I received a response. A lovely, handwritten message in Español from the Abuelita. A little piece of my childhood came back to me--memories of visiting great-grandma and great-grandpa in South Texas. Eating migas and watching the two hobble over to the kitchen table. Then there was that bingo-esque game where for some reason all I can remember is the picture of the mermaid.

I couldn't talk to them, but this letter encourages me to keep going. I teared up to read how she is proud of me. Te quiero mucho tambien, abuela!

Title.