THE MAGIC OF "PLEASE"

 THE MAGIC of "PLEASE"

  

"Please" is such a magnificent word. It can take you to a new world - a world of people whose parents, or other relatives had the time to teach them, or the kid was smart enough to hear it from older siblings and learn on his own the advantages of using this word. 

When you get older, "please" loses its attractive power. You can't tell your boss, "Please, do not fire me today! I just got a new granddaughter!" - it rarely works. You can't allure your boyfriend with "Please, let's get married!" 

In fact, not being so civil at an older age is not such a disadvantage. Until you finish saying to your son, "Please, call the doctor", you would have wasted 2 precious, life - saving seconds. It is already assumed that by being elderly, you can not be following all the norms of society, so I will recommend, go with "call the doctor!" The doctor, or 911 do the magic. Forget this "please!"

I am quite positive in the early '90s there was not much attention given to "please" and "I am sorry". In Eastern Europe, it was also the time of early marriages. Most of our kids were either in daycare, or raised by our parents. Daycare was not so much a place to learn. It was a place to keep your baby safe, change his diapers, and feed him, while you were at work. 

The education part took place during the weekend - at home. The family structure always included a father and a mother, no exceptions. Divorce was frowned upon.

In many cases, kids' education just happened - without any parents' efforts. There was no negotiations, no rewards, no emulating what parents say. You learn as you go.

There is a language component in this chaos, too. The Bulgarian language allows you to say everything in so many different ways. The word may be missing, but you feel it. A sentence containing the same words can be said in so many different ways based on your intonation, emphasis on a specific word, tone of voice, body posture. "Please" and "Sorry" may remain mute. 

Living in these tiny communist style apartments - with no places to play, no yards, made a commute to the small town [called a village], where the grandparents lived, mandatory. Everyone was able to play soccer outside. That was the major game of the '90s and still is the major outdoor game. The girls were mostly enjoying the stories of their grandparents, all ears and smiles from ear to ear. 

This is how respect and connection with the grandparents was born. There was no need "to teach" it. It was "naturally born." 

Image courtesy of worradmu from FreeDigitalPhotos.net

This was the way to see you grandparents grow weaker and pale with time; repeat an old story 110 times. This is how kids understood what getting old meant. Ultimately, kids learned to open the door of a restaurant, when they saw an old lady with a cane, waited for her to get in first, picked up the purse she dropped on the floor. ...

One thing we, the parents, forget is to tell our kids to ask as many questions as they want. Our answers may change over time. They will sort through them one day and laugh at our imagination and creativity. I know my daughter will. ...

I AM SORRY?

"I AM SORRY?"

For the those who want to be in the know, as my daughter, Toni Ti would say, it is time to give some funny cultural examples. One of them is the "I am sorry!"

I have been using this picture by Frank Bryan several times now. It does not show a simple misunderstanding between a woman and a man. It shows a very important cultural difference. Nodding your head in Bulgaria stands for "NO", while shaking it for "YES." There is no need to explain how embarrassed one can find him/herself if this is not understood in advance. There are a couple of scenarios which you already think about, don't you? Coming to America one has to practice this nodding and shaking a lot. One of the first thing I said as a baby was "YES" and "NO." I was not the "aww" baby. I always had my "yes" and "no." How can I get rid of this habit overnight? 

The best example I have for "I am sorry!"  is this one: It happened while I was at the graduate school in USA. I was pleasant and chatty - trying to learn about the new place I was living at as much as possible. I approached one guy from the program. We started a simple conversation about our families, kids. He told me he was already working. I had a serious problem understanding what he was talking about. But one sentence really shocked me. I thought he said he worked for the Federal Bureau of Presents (FBP). 

I knew there is no Federal Santa, but it sounded soo nice. I repeated, "I am sorry? Where did you say you work?" He gave me the same answer. I did not ask more questions, but the mere illusion of America having a Federal Bureau of Presents was exhilarating. 

I researched at home what FBP stood for. Umm, it was not presents, it was prisons. Close enough. 

I continue to have an issue with this "I am sorry". It is one of my language diseases. The issue is that I know when to use "I am sorry"; it just does not feel right. I can use it when I do not hear what the other person is saying, or I do not recognize the word being used. Very often, the word I do not recognize, rhymes with the word being used. Word recognition is a bummer. If I was a rap song writer, that would have been phenomenal.

This language problem is common. It deserves special attention. Here is the story to illustrate it. My husband and I will always remember a visit to a National park in Colorado. We were having lunch at a nice restaurant with his brother. The waitress came and asked [what sounded to me] as "Super salad for the lady?" It was not even the time of "Seinfeld," when Elaine would ask for a "big salad." Looked like everyone was waiting for my answer. Without any hesitation my answer was, "Oh, no, I'll just have a regular salad!" "Soup or salad?" - this was what the girl was asking. Until today - 20 years later, I will ask for a regular salad. The "regular salad" is "the house salad" today.

The restaurants in America are a real pain in the butt as far as giving you enough time to dine, not to eat. Do not register with this pencil #2 that the people on table #25 just came in. The table will be available not earlier than 2.5 hours after their arrival time. This is what all restaurants in the local area have to be aware of, when they see the Colemans coming.

My picture with the supersalad

There is also a mandatory expression to be used at restaurants when you stop eating for a second. "Are you still working, ma'm?" They just can't wait to take your plate away. You have to wiggle with your fork, make some childish movements in your plate to keep it in front of you. Otherwise, it is gone.

The word "working" is in fact what bothers me the most. One day, being frustrated to the utmost, I said with subtle confidence, "I am not working, I am dining." My American spouse accepted this philosophy very fast. Now, he goes first, "No, no, I am not working. I am drinking ma bourbon."

The next difficult part of a restaurant etiquette is taking the leftovers home. The "doggy bag" is a must. If you don't get a bag/box, it may be perceived as if you did not like the food. On the other hand, if you forget the box in your car, your car will never forget the sweet and sour chicken you put there that night.

"I am sorry" is used when you have done something, which the other party does not approve of, or you have not done something the other party will approve of. This is how I see it. The only meaningful "I am sorry" to me is when something "bad" has happened to someone. Loss of a family member, a child, a friend. ...Even then "I am sorry" will not do it. 

A big hug and silence will do so much more. ...

This is just my opinion. ...

CULTURE SHOCK? (part 3)

                     CULTURE SHOCK?  (part 3)

While writing about culture shock, I ran across people of different ages, with various international experiences. One of them was a guy, who had been on a study abroad program in Europe. He was telling me how much fun this semester was. He studied the local culture and language, traveled, tried new cuisine, had fun bar-hopping with the local students, even got picked up by a girl at a bar. Naturally he said, "yes", but what he thought was going to be a long night of intimacy, turned out to be a lesson in how to be a gentleman. The girl did not want to walk alone into the dance club. After an hour of dancing, he felt light-headed. The girl stayed at the club with her girlfriends, while he made it to his apartment very lonely. "I felt a little stupid that night." He said.

He proceeded talking to me about his family. He shared he was able to talk to them and see them on the internet more often than at the time he was in USA. "But after 3 months, I really wanted to go home! Nostalgia hit me. I am ready for a vacation to Europe any time; I can take a short work assignment, but moving to Europe - not permanently."

It is one thing to be a visitor, or a tourist, a totally different thing to immigrate, or be an expatriate. I hate this word! Anyway, this is just a blog. ...

The conversation with the young man made me think, "I must have really wanted the challenge to leave the old life behind and just show up across the Atlantic to try out a better life and better opportunities."

As time went by, we entered the Adjustment stage of the culture shock. Do all Bulgarian immigrants from those days adjust? It depends. There are so many socio- economic factors, which come into play. Even after so many years, I frown upon the immigrants, who try to swallow everything from the new culture in an attempt to blend with the local people. I guess cultural assimilation is the word I am looking for. Bulgarians have lived under Turkish rule for 500 years without being assimilated. How can immigration lead to this situation? How can you forget where you came from?

I will sneak in a comment on a controversial subject among the compatriots. Since I don't live in my country of origin, I don't follow its news and I am not a part of the every day pains and sorrows of the regular folks in Bulgaria. So, I have to exercise extreme caution commenting on what goes on in BG now (as long as there are no wars, open violation of human and civil rights, terrorism, and genocide). The media cannot be my source of information. I have to remember what my husband's father - a good husband and father of seven, a hard working farmer from Colorado - taught him many years ago: "Gary, consider the source." If anyone of my former friends talks against USA and the American people, I can easily say, "You do not live in USA, but I admire your interest in the country!" 

The majority of the Bulgarian immigrants follow their old native traditions, while absorbing the cultural values and traditions of the Americans. Based on the demographic and ethnic structure of the area they live, they may become not just bi-cultural, but multicultural. What more can one ask for? The more cultures you see, the bigger the world becomes for you. 
 
When you immigrate, food becomes an essential part of the bigger world you are in. Living in the most diverse country in the world, USA, you can eat whatever international cuisine you like -- the big American steaks (my husband's favorite), German sausage with sauerkraut, Chinese roast duck, Italian pizza, French beef bourguignon (my favourite), Korean kimchi (my daughter's favorite), Spanish tapas, Vietnamese noodles soup, Pakistan lamb kebab, Indian tofu dishes, and many more.

You can find Bulgarian food in the few Bulgarian stores around. The famous Bulgarian "rakia" drink (not for people who cannot drink) is not to be found easily. Just go with the whiskey and the bourbon. 

Image courtesy of creativedoxphoto from FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I am married to an American man. This is the best possible scenario to learn and see on a daily basis the differences and similarities between the Bulgarian and American cultures. There is humor and loud discussions on how things are "supposed to be done." How can you not laugh at someone, who has learned 14 Bulgarian words + 1 sentence for 14 years of marriage? How can he not laugh at his wife, who can throw money up in the air in a restaurant, because [to her] it is embarrassing to question what your portion of the bill is. If the other women cannot drink martinis, I can. I also like James Bond's type martinis. Do I have to pay more for my better taste?

Next time, I will give you some examples to make fun of myself. Believe me, when time comes to make fun of myself, no one can do it better.

Disclaimer: Any resemblance to real situations, real living or dead people is purely coincidental. All characters appearing in this blog are composite and fictitious. 

CULTURE SHOCK (part 2)

CULTURE SHOCK (part 2)

Picture by Frank Bryan

Transitioning from the Honeymoon stage to the Negotiation stage is the most complex time of immigration. I realized I was in this noisy unfamiliar crowd from which I could not leave. The one - way ticket was used. Remnants from the honeymoon stage were occurring from time to time, but they were only a geographic reminder of being alone in the new world. It felt cold, very cold. Is it ever going to get warmer?

The Negotiation stage was the time I was trying to convince myself, "I know it is not OK, but take it easy; stay cool! It will get better!"

The Wikipedia teaches that during this stage "the differences between the old and new culture become apparent..." Meeting new people, being in a new place, can really drive a person out of balance. The thought, "what have I gotten myself and my child into?" crawled in only to create additional psychological obstacles to the communication with the outside world.

When I started graduate school, Frostburg's accent/language met the English one from Bulgaria. It was time to negotiate. The linguistic blunders, the intonation, facial expressions, were not always the way they were supposed to be. It was more than noticeable.

To make matters worse, at that time there was barely any support for international students. Naturally, the internationals were leaning on each other more than connecting with the other students. They could easily find the beer bar - next to campus, and the laundromat - next to the bar. But help was needed for banks, transportation, shopping, everything...

My daughter attended high school in Frostburg. Her attempts to explain where Bulgaria  was on the map of the world did not get much attention. Bullying for the way you talk, you dress, you eat was an essential part of her life. I could never explain to her why it was "the law" of the American land to eat a hot dog on a hot dog roll; why it was a "No No" to eat hot dog on a slice of bread. All I knew is that she became the butt of a joke when she was "caught" eating lunch her way.

 I could only wipe her tears.

Maybe, that explains her being a vegetarian these days. She never eats hot dogs; she never eats rolls. Bread remains her favorite. 

To be continued...