Perhaps it was the two required essays that played a role. Maybe it was because our collaborative project was to be the compilation of a class dictionary. Even still, it may have been because our first homework assignment consisted of thirty-five pages of reading, and it was due the next day. Whatever the reason, the reading of the syllabus sounded like the ominous music in a horror flick. When I registered for ENG 305, or Modern Usage and Vocabulary Development, I made an assumption. This assumption, shared by a majority of my classmates, was that the course would be what we like to call “an easy A.” In one dark instant, our expectations turned out to be grossly underestimated. We quickly recanted our previous opinion and amended it with another expression: “hard-core.” Indeed, a dark cloud had settled over our classroom, and it was only 8:16.
In times such as these, one must find a reason to go on, or, rather, in this case, a reason not to drop the course. I decided that a little work never hurt anyone, and it was no reason to drop what would be my last English elective. “Besides,” I rationalized. “The fact that our teacher hails from Great Britain could prove interesting.” I had never had a British acquaintance before, so I chalked this up to a cultural learning experience. Indeed, learning vocabulary from someone with a slightly different perspective would be valuable, and quite possibly…Dare I say it? Fun.
My first cultural exchange was, in fact, not far from taking place. Out of our thirty-five page reading assignment, I had only gotten twenty-two pages read before I dozed off, drooling on my textbook. Even though I failed to finish the homework, this was an accomplishment unsurpassed by my previous years of study. Reading twenty-two pages of schoolwork in one setting was the longest time I had ever spent on homework since that first day I went to Kindergarten when I was five. I was proud of myself for not procrastinating the assignment away. I was even more delighted the following day when I discovered that several of my peers had misunderstood the assignment (reading something else altogether) and had also not prepared for class. At least I wasn’t alone.
Dr. Thompson walked into the classroom, placed her books on the desk, and then walked over to the chalkboard. She picked up a piece of chalk and began writing. We were to write ten words from our reading that were new to us. Then, taking those words, we were to use them in original sentences. The purpose of this assignment was to ascertain whether we could assimilate these words into our existing vocabulary. I had underlined several new words in my text; however, I failed to bring a dictionary to class. Dr. Thompson graciously lent me her copy, and I meticulously began constructing my sentences. Before I had a chance to finish my work, she prompted us each to write one sentence on the board for examination. I was first.
One of my new words was “terrapin.” A quick glance in the dictionary revealed that a terrapin is a kind of edible turtle, so I wrote in disgust, “Who would want to eat a terrapin?” I chose this sentence to write on the board, convinced that I had done mine correctly. After every student had written his or her sentence, she explained that our next step would be to discuss these sentences to make sure we had used our grammar skills and new vocabulary properly. She read my sentence aloud. “Who would want to eat a terrapin?” Then she asked the class to guess the meaning of terrapin from the context. One student said that it sounded like an animal that could be eaten. Another suggested that because of the way I formed my question, it would probably be an animal that some people might find unappealing. Finally, a third student defined the word, saying, “It is a turtle.”
This is about the time that I had noticed something was awry. My professor had a look on her face that I took to mean “Why would anyone use the words ‘terrapin’ and ‘eat’ in the same sentence?” Now, I had the dictionary backing me up, and I vaguely remembered a dish called “Turtle Soup.” Confident in my definition and usage, I offered clarification. “The dictionary defined it as an edible turtle,” I explained.
“Really?” she quizzically asked. She walked over to the dictionary and looked up the word. Then she closed the dictionary and faced the class to speak. “What we have here is our first cultural misunderstanding,” she said.
How was I supposed to know that in British English, a terrapin is a small, domesticated turtle? How was I supposed to know that as a child she had owned two terrapins for pets? How was I supposed to know that Terry the Terrapin had contracted an awful disease and died in her arms? My once confident feeling faded. It was replaced with one of shock and horror. I had just murdered her childhood pet. Here she was, holding a dying turtle in her arms. Here I was holding a fork in one hand and a salt shaker in the other. I felt horrible.
I had learned a lesson from this cultural exchange, sure enough. Never again would I forget my dictionary. Never again would I be so sure of my answers. Never again would I look at turtles the same way…and never…EVER would I eat a bowl of Turtle Soup.
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