What do I do when things aren’t going the way I expect them to go?
I remind myself of the resilience I employed as a young child without even knowing that’s what I was doing. Like the time I entered the sixth-grade classroom, not speaking any English. I had arrived from Greece to my adoptive parents in Brighton, a neighborhood in Boston, Massachusetts, days before.
School had already started. Everyone had their groups of friends, not that I would have been accepted to be part of a group. When I arrived in the United States, my English vocabulary consisted of two words: yes and no. To those words I added thank you please and good morning in the few days before I went to school. How far could those words get me in a classroom of 11- and 12-year-olds?
When the students opened their notebooks, looked at the board and started writing in their notebooks, I did the same. I did not know what I was writing, just copying. When they opened a book, I made sure I chose the same book and opened it. Thankfully, the desks were close enough that I could look over at the student next to me to see what page we were supposed to be on. Although I could feel something churning in my stomach, I felt I was doing a good job of not letting on how nervous and miserable I felt. Raising my hand was not an option. I had no idea what was going on. I just wanted to go home so I could cry. And cry I did. A lot, every day after school. I pleaded with my new parents to please send me back to Greece.
To my relief, after a week of pretending to be a sixth-grade student, the school administration requested that my parents send me to a school where I could learn the language. Christopher Columbus High School in downtown Boston offered an English as a Second Language (ESL) course. My relief was short-lived when I entered the classroom of all adults. Being the only child in the classroom, the churning in my stomach kept me company for the entire class. As the first week progressed, I kept thinking, how will I do this? I don’t know what’s going on. My immigrant parents could not help me. Their language skills were limited. I continued to cry at home and beg to return to Greece. But I realized that would not happen and so I decided I had to figure something out. I had to learn the language; I had to assimilate, I had to learn to communicate and to return to the school with students my age. And learn the language I did. Attending the ESL class was perfect-immersion did it. In three months, I spoke conversational English and in six months, I was fluent. That fall, I entered the seventh grade with confidence and optimism.
Read the entire story, Chapter 17.
How do you handle situations that don’t meet your expectations and cause you pain? I would love to hear your answer. Contact me.