Patos Bilingües

We walked one by one down the locker-lined hallway, attempting to traverse the short distance between the cafeteria and the playground in silence. “Hey, Emily,” said an impish blonde lad disregarding the rules somewhere behind me, “I bet you can’t speak Spanish.”

I turned, looking down at him from my immense height. “Un poco,” I replied with a grin. This was kind of the equivalent of sticking my tongue out at him in jest; I am so mature.

“Very funny,” he responded with a rueful smile. This was kind of the equivalent of, “Touché,” in first-grade-speak

An even blonder lass piped up: “I can speak Spanish.” And then she led the younglings in a rousing recitation of, “Uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, seis…” as we paraded through the hall, twenty bilingual ducks all in a row.