Accidental insults

In the past, I have usually only exchanged everyday pleasantries with the majority of parents at my son’s school, in large part due to my lack of language skills. However, over time, I have become friendly with two of the mothers, sharing cups of coffee at one another’s homes while our children play together. Both mothers listen politely as I struggle with their native tongue, and with their seemingly endless patience, we have had many interesting conversations. The other mothers, though, have not shown any inclination of wanting to further our exchanges beyond basic greetings, even when I have asked them over for tea. So far, only the two mothers have come by or even sat and shared a cup of coffee with me at the corner café as we wait for school to let out. Perhaps it is out of shyness with a stranger and not wanting to expend the energy to understand my broken phrasings and mixed-up use of verbs, or it is possible that they do not feel a need to expand their field of friends beyond the women they grew up with in the same neighborhood.

Since I have not had a chance to sit, observe, listen and join in conversations with the other mothers when they gather, I have missed the clues that might help me with social interactions with them. In Turkey, I have been asked very direct questions that in American culture would be considered extremely rude, including my age, my salary and how much we pay in rent. It seems, however, that even though these questions are acceptable, there are other inquiries that are unwelcome. That is how I came to once again offend one of the mothers without meaning to.

One of my son’s classmates kept telling my son that he too had traveled to the United States many times and that his mother spoke fluent English. In addition, he said that he played baseball and was on a team in İstanbul. Intrigued, I wanted to speak with his mother, hoping to have someone who could explain some of the school activities and programs to me in English. I was also curious to find out where her son played baseball. I thought that perhaps the boys could get together on weekends from time to time to practice baseball at our house, since we have all the equipment needed.

Finally, a day came when the mother and her son were leaving the school at the same time my son and I were departing. We exchanged the usual pleasantries and as we exited, I asked the mother where she had traveled in the United States. She looked confused and replied she had never been to America. She then wanted to know why I thought that she had traveled there. I told her that her son had insisted that the family had traveled abroad many times. She looked down at her young son and shook her head, saying there must be some misunderstanding and that he knew they had never been out of the country. My son, in response, piped up and told her that her son had indeed insisted many times that his family often traveled to America.

Puzzled, I asked: “Can we speak in English? As you have noticed, my Turkish is not good, but your son has said that you speak English, and it would be much easier for me if we switched languages. I wanted to talk to you to find out where your son plays baseball. Maybe the coaches for our sons’ teams could arrange a game between the teams. I was so happy to hear that your son knows all about baseball, just like my son.”

Stiffening, she stepped back and said: “I don’t speak English. I have no idea why you would think that. My son knows I only speak Turkish. Surely you and your son have misunderstood something my son said. He does not play baseball. No one here does. It’s an American game that he has never played. I don’t know where you got these ideas.”

My son jumped into the conversation: “But, he has told me many times that you are fluent in English and have traveled to the United States. He also said that he plays on a baseball team here. If it’s not true, why does he say these things?” Her son looked slightly embarrassed for a moment as his mother looked at him. His expression changed to one of smugness, though, as his mother turned back to my son and I. “How dare you call my son a liar?” she hissed. “I will not have you saying such things about my son.”

At this point, I was completely confused about what had just happened, as was my son. I tried to explain, saying: “I’m sorry, but we have not called your son a liar. I was asking you questions about things he had told my son. Since he said you spoke English and he played baseball, I thought that the boys might like to get together to practice at our home and you and I could have a chance to talk and get to know each other. I’m sorry if there has been a misunderstanding.” Pulling her son along the sidewalk, as we parted she said: “There is no misunderstanding. You think my son is a liar. Obviously, there is nothing more for us to say to each other ever again.” They got into their car and drove off as my son and I walked home, both wondering what had just happened.