This takes place during my final year of college, when we’re doing our big project worth 50% of our grade. The professors have created the groups, and I’m the only native English speaker in my group. The professors have decided that this will give the International Students a hand in writing. This makes sense to me since I previously completed an English diploma before going back to school. About midway through, one professor comes up to me.

Professor: “It seems like you do most of the editing in the drafts.”

Me: “Well, yes. That’s what you wanted me to do.”

Professor: “I know you come from a writing background, but maybe give them a chance. They can work on their English!”

Me: “I totally support them to do that, but this is also my grade. You ding us for grammar and spelling. Trust me, I really don’t mind doing it.”

Professor: “I won’t do any ‘dings’ this time around. Just give them a chance!”

Me: “If you insist.”

As anyone learning a second language knows, speaking, reading, and writing are different skills. I have all the respect in the world for anyone learning a second language, and college has a steep learning curve. My project partners can speak English, but their writing uses a different grammar structure. Think, “Paul and I, to the store, we did walk.” I’m pretty sure they wrote it in their native languages and then used Google Translate.

This time, I don’t edit anything but make suggestions on how to improve it. It’s submitted at the start of class, but the professor comes up the me before the end of the class after our break.

Professor: “So… how fast can you edit?”

Me: “Probably an hour, more if I need to get more information from them.”

Professor: “Please do. I just… I can’t read this! It’s so confusing! I’ll give you until midnight to resubmit it

I got it done, and they didn’t question my editing again.

A customer walks up to me in the produce department. It is clear that English is not his first language.

Customer: “I look for broccoli, but like, if it was ghost.” 

Me: “Broccoli if it was a ghost?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Light bulb!

Me: “Do you mean… cauliflower?”

Customer: “Maybe? You show me?”

I bring him to the cauliflower. 

Customer: “Yes! Ghost broccoli! Thank you!”

I teach French as a foreign language. A couple of weeks ago, I was playing a game with my students where I clipped a picture of a celebrity to each one’s back and they had to ask their classmates questions (in French) to find out who they were.

One was Angelina Jolie, born in 1975. During the game, I mentioned that she was only two years older than me. The student recapitulated the information he’d already found out for himself but audible to the ones around him, including me:

Student: “Actress, American, old…”

To the class’s credit, they immediately gasped in horror.

My two girls are polar opposites. The youngest is kind, easygoing, and content to let her sister decide how every game is played. By contrast, my oldest is a natural leader. She will take charge of a group of kids and is amazingly good at getting them to go along with her dictatorial decrees of how to play. Unfortunately, while I love her dearly, I have to admit that this also means she can be just a tad stubborn and refuses to admit that she can be wrong at times.

As most parents do, I end up placing my youngest daughter’s car seat on the driver’s side (left side, for you non-Americans), which means my eldest is assigned to the right seat.

When my girls were much younger, their uncle ended up staying with us for about a month, and he commandeered both girls as his full-time playmates, taking them out to parks and entertaining them. I admit that I was rather sorry to see my self-appointed live-in nanny leave when it was time for him to go.

Early during his visit, I was driving with him and the kids, and we were pointing out Christmas decorations we saw while driving. 

Me: “Look! There is a Santa on the right.”

Eldest: “Which way is right?”

Uncle: “We talked about this today. Which side do you sit on?”

Eldest: “Oh, I’m right!”

The girls oohed and ahhed at the decorations for a second. After we passed them, I spoke up again.

Me: “[Eldest], I love you knowing which way is right. I’m impressed.”

Uncle: “Want to tell her our mnemonic?”

Eldest: “What’s a ‘new mount tick’?”

Uncle: “How do you know which side is right?”

Eldest: *Excited enough to be practically screaming* “Because I’M ALWAYS RIGHT!”

I thought this was just my brother being silly with the girls as always, but from that point on, whenever there was a question of which side was which, their uncle would ask something along the lines of, “Do you think [Eldest] got her directions wrong?” and my eldest would scream that she was “ALWAYS RIGHT!” and suddenly remember her directions.

By the time my brother left, my daughter had her left and right quite firmly down. There could be no doubt of that fact since she was so eager to find any excuse to explain which way was which so she would have an excuse to declare, loudly, that she was “ALWAYS RIGHT!”

In fact, even her younger sister soon had a firm grasp of the concept by repeating the same mnemonic that her sibling was always right.

A little while later, I was on the phone with my brother.

Me: “I do appreciate you teaching them right from left, but couldn’t you have done it in a way that doesn’t have my daughter shouting that she is always right every day?”

Uncle: “Definitely not! I told you before she was even born that I was eager to be an uncle so I could come over and teach your kids bad habits, didn’t I?”

Me: “But I didn’t think you actually meant it!”

Uncle: “Well, that’s your fault, not mine, isn’t it? In fact, do you know why you should have known that I would do exactly what I promised?”

Me: “Why?”

Uncle: “Because… I’M ALWAYS RIGHT!”

A customer has just sized their pizza up from a medium to a larger size.

Customer: “How come you charge so much more for just four more inches?!”

Me: “Well, as it’s a circle, it’s actually a lot more pizza.”

I quickly do the math and show him.

Customer: “How did you do that?” 

Me: “The area of a circle is π times the radius squared.”

Customer: “Well, that explains it. I’m from Texas. We don’t call pizzas pies.”