learning the language

      This is another installment in our series on decisions that have changed our lives. For previous posts in the series, see here, here, here and here.

      I can trace everything back to a few simple words, to a change in course that seemed small at the time, but in the long run was anything but.

      When I arrived at North Texas State University in 1977, I had little to no idea what I wanted to do. I was a psychology major simply because I couldn’t come up with anything at all that made sense to me. I had graduated seventh in a class of around 250, had excellent grades, but the woeful lack of meaningful career counseling at my high school left me with no plans whatsoever. Nothing I had been exposed to grabbed me at all.

      Among the core requirements for a psychology degree (and most any degree at that time) was the foreign language requirement. I had lived in Germany as a child when my father was stationed there in the early 1960s, so learning German had some appeal for me. It was a chance encounter a few months later that would change everything.

      Herr Lamme, my first German professor, was a slow-talking, somewhat plodding older man. His teaching style was not what you might describe as “scintillating” or “energetic.” But it was systematic and thorough, and I found myself enjoying the subject.

      One cool north Texas morning, I bumped into Herr Lamme as we were walking to the university. We chatted a bit as we walked, and then he said words that still ring clearly in my head today: “You know, you’re really good at this (German). You should try Russian.”

      So, I did—and I loved it.

      And the rest, as they say, is languages. Spanish and French and more, to be precise.

      After a year of Russian at North Texas State, the university phased out the program. But I had some direction now and, on the recommendation of my Russian professor, headed to Tucson, Arizona, to continue my studies.

      The University of Arizona in 1980 was home to a remarkable set of language instructors. During that first year, my favorite German professor urged me to apply for one of three slots available for study abroad. Though Russian was still my main focus, I took him up on the offer.

      In the meantime, I was continuing with French and Spanish and thrilled with all of it. My final second-semester French assignment was a two-page essay. My teacher, a native French speaker, returned my essay with no grade and no marks. Puzzled, I approached her and asked why. She looked at me stone-faced and said, “Did you write this yourself?”

      I have to say, I’ve never been so insulted and flattered at the same time.

      I went on to study in Würzburg, Germany, for a year, and it was there that I met the love of my life, a fellow exchange student from Alabama. I also learned German well enough to pass for a native in many situations. We made friends we are still in contact with today, and have returned several times to Würzburg where, even after 45 years, our feet know exactly where to turn to get to the old haunts.

      A double major in German and Russian led to graduate school in Slavic linguistics at the University of North Carolina. The studied languages were piling up: Serbo-Croatian, Bulgarian, Georgian, Macedonian, Japanese, Czech.

      While studying, I became involved with a small translation firm and found I enjoyed the work. I found it was getting easier and easier to pick up languages: Italian, Dutch, Portuguese.

      A Fulbright scholarship in 1987 took my wife and me to Novi Sad, Yugoslavia, for a year to work on my Master’s degree thesis. It was yet another eye-opening experience in the different ways the world works, including learning how to bribe people, exploit connections (“Veze” in Serbian), and generally navigate an environment where retail goods were here one day and gone the next. But it is also a place where hospitality is king, and we enjoyed the benefits fully.

      In 1992, I started my own agency with three partners and spent the next 20 years helping businesses and people bridge the language barrier while growing professionally as a linguist and translator. I was honored to serve on numerous committees and head a professional association for six years. I continue to work as a freelance translator to this day, and often have the pleasure of working in four or five different languages in the course of a day. It’s much like getting to eat cake for dinner every day, without the collateral side effects.

      Since that fateful exchange in north Texas, I have thanked my lucky stars every day for the decision that led me to discover my calling, find the love of my life, give me a career as a translator that allowed me to comfortably support my wonderful family, and that opened my eyes to a world that most Americans will never experience.

      I do not think Herr Lamme could still be alive at this late date, but my heartfelt thanks go out to him, wherever his Teutonic soul may be resting.