Let me set the scene for you. Today Esther and I went for a walk to the rec center by our house. There is a large outside area with trees and benches. There are grass and cement soccer fields on either side. Esther loves it there because it is filled with kids running around, parents standing together chatting, kids playing soccer or tennis. You can almost hear her as she walks up to people and stops right in front of them:
¨Hi my name is Esther, what is your name.¨
She made a friend, a little 9 year old girl Alba (Esther learned to say her name- Abba) and they were playing together. Esther was almost hit by a soccer ball that flew over the fence. We kept playing and after the kids kicked the 5 th ball over the 15 foot fence we went elsewhere to play, and the benches cleared out. When we went back to get our things another ball missed Esther by 3 inches. I stomped over to the fence and the 2 kids (one about 9 years old and the other 15 years old), and I started yelling,
¨Are you kidding me, it is not normal to be kicking the ball that many times over the fence, you almost hit my daughter twice. If you are really that bad at playing soccer, then maybe you should not be playing.¨
It was that last part I felt bad about. The young kid, who I was not yelling at, was pointing to his friend and mouthing, ¨it wasn´t me.¨
We left, I felt like a jerk. Alba said a sheepish goodbye and her parents looked a little surprised.
Luckily this is Spain, and people yell at each other in the streets all the time. What I sometimes forget is that I am not Spanish and I do not normally yell at people in the street. . .
Well except for that other time there was a guy beating his dog on the street below my window. The only results were:
1- him seeing me in my underwear as I screamed out the window from the 6th floor and
2- that he yelled back at me that my husband should beat me.
I think it may not be the most effective form of communication.