There are eight million stories in the Naked City. This ... is one of them.
When I started writing speeches and essays, I was taught every good piece needs a hook -- something to catch the reader and reel her in.
It was a lesson I easily put to use in trial work. No attorney deserves to prevail on a case unless the reason his client should win can be stated in a simple sentence.
Yesterday was a recovery day. Somehow I have managed to contract another bout of lower intestine distress.
At the end of the day, Jiggs wanted to go for a walk along the beach. So, out the beach gate we went.
There was a young Mexican family sitting on the beach just outside the gate watching the night's sunset show: three adults and four children ranging from infant to maybe 5.
I grabbed Jiggs's collar. He loves children, and will run up to them to be petted. That has a tendency to horrify some Mexican parents.
In this case, the roles were reversed. Three of the children immediately mobbed him.
The adults then came over. And we started talking -- in Spanish. The young man was visiting Melaque with his wife and their infant, and his sister was along with her son and two daughters.
We had been talking for about three minutes when I realized we were actually communicating. We ranged from talking about the dog and his age, why e had surgery scars on his neck, whether he bites, whether he is a boy or girl. My usual beach conversation.
But we went past that to how long I had been in Melaque. How long I was going to be there. If I flew or drove. How many children I have. Where is the rest of my family. Am I lonely.
But I learned new Spanish words: neighbor, nephew, niece.
And I knew this was going to happen one day on my journey in Spanish. They wanted to know my name. I decided to be clever: I would write out the Spanish version of my name.
So, I grab a stick and started writing in the sand -- without one adulteress in sight. And then disaster struck: I realized I was not quite certain how to spell it. The sister did it for me.
If anyone says I am so stupid that I cannot write my name in the dirt with a stick, I can now say: "I have the proof."
It turns out the young man could speak a bit of English. He said he didn't try earlier because he was afraid he would make a mistake.
And there we have it. As long as we were all just trying to communicate, we were doing fine. The moment we got too concerned about impressing our listeners, we clam up.
I need to seek out more of these moments. This beach is beginning to fill up with people on vacation. Most of them are happy to talk with someone new.
Speaking Spanish is just like skiing: point the skis downhill and enjoy the ride.
There are hundreds of stories on this semi-naked beach. I just need to seek them out.
When I started writing speeches and essays, I was taught every good piece needs a hook -- something to catch the reader and reel her in.
It was a lesson I easily put to use in trial work. No attorney deserves to prevail on a case unless the reason his client should win can be stated in a simple sentence.
Yesterday was a recovery day. Somehow I have managed to contract another bout of lower intestine distress.
At the end of the day, Jiggs wanted to go for a walk along the beach. So, out the beach gate we went.
There was a young Mexican family sitting on the beach just outside the gate watching the night's sunset show: three adults and four children ranging from infant to maybe 5.
I grabbed Jiggs's collar. He loves children, and will run up to them to be petted. That has a tendency to horrify some Mexican parents.
In this case, the roles were reversed. Three of the children immediately mobbed him.
The adults then came over. And we started talking -- in Spanish. The young man was visiting Melaque with his wife and their infant, and his sister was along with her son and two daughters.
We had been talking for about three minutes when I realized we were actually communicating. We ranged from talking about the dog and his age, why e had surgery scars on his neck, whether he bites, whether he is a boy or girl. My usual beach conversation.
But we went past that to how long I had been in Melaque. How long I was going to be there. If I flew or drove. How many children I have. Where is the rest of my family. Am I lonely.
But I learned new Spanish words: neighbor, nephew, niece.
And I knew this was going to happen one day on my journey in Spanish. They wanted to know my name. I decided to be clever: I would write out the Spanish version of my name.
So, I grab a stick and started writing in the sand -- without one adulteress in sight. And then disaster struck: I realized I was not quite certain how to spell it. The sister did it for me.
If anyone says I am so stupid that I cannot write my name in the dirt with a stick, I can now say: "I have the proof."
It turns out the young man could speak a bit of English. He said he didn't try earlier because he was afraid he would make a mistake.
And there we have it. As long as we were all just trying to communicate, we were doing fine. The moment we got too concerned about impressing our listeners, we clam up.
I need to seek out more of these moments. This beach is beginning to fill up with people on vacation. Most of them are happy to talk with someone new.
Speaking Spanish is just like skiing: point the skis downhill and enjoy the ride.
There are hundreds of stories on this semi-naked beach. I just need to seek them out.
