Lost in Translation?

A couple of years ago, while I was still a university student, I was presented with the opportunity to travel to Mexico with a local church. We would be building a small home for a poor family in Juarez, a northern border-city just south of El Paso. Although I was excited about the prospect of helping those in need, I had another incentive. I was studying Spanish in school, so, naturally, I found myself eager to test out my new language skills. Sadly, I didn't know what I was getting into.

When our delegation arrived in Mexico, I learned that between our group (of ten or so) and the Mexicans with whom we'd interact, I was the only one who had any working knowledge of both languages--and that I'd have to translate whenever we found the need. That's a tall order for someone with only three semesters of college Spanish. With my limited vocabulary, lots of pointing and the more-than-occasional awkward moment, our two groups managed to communicate and build the house.

As I got back to the States and continued learning the language, I began to realize just how many gaffes I had made. One evening, after we had completed construction on our family's new home, we asked them back to the church where we were staying for dinner. Not content to feed them and send them off, we sat around afterward and tried to converse. My most embarrassing moment came when I tried to make small talk with the family's two adolescent daughters. Wondering which sibling was older, I did my best to translate the question.

"Quien de ustedes es más viejo," I asked . Noticeably bewildered by my inquiry, the two young girls could not answer. I later learned exactly what I had said to them.

"Which of you is most old man?"

I haven't returned to Mexico