When I first saw Rudy, it was his face I noticed. A kind face. With a bright smile. Not the color of his skin. Nor did I hear the accent in his speech. His thick accent. An accent I only began to notice when my sister pointed it out to me.
"It's the foreigner on the phone," she said, smirky smile and all.
It was then that I began to pay attention to the way he talked. The funny mistakes he made. Without realizing it.
Hungry, as children always are, we stopped at the food hut and Rudy gallantly pushed ahead of us, ordering the afternoon's meal.
"We'll have some SHilly dogs," he requested. All I can say is he has never lived that one down. His own children, years and years later, ask for SHilly dogs any chance they can get, having heard the story that took place way before their entry into this world.
Another time, long ago, when Rudy and I first began playing house, the grocery shopping needed to get done. Done that day. We needed some sustenance in our little apartment. Needed to fill that fridge. Stuff those cupboards. With food. Food that Rudy would cook. On a stove. Food that I could microwave.
Mostly, we would hit the store together, chose our personal preferences and be done with it. BUT, Rudy needed to go into work for a bit, and I just wanted to get the grocery shopping done. That morning. First thing.
"Tank you," he said to me, in appreciation of just taking care of that particular errand. I smiled. Laughed internally. Does he want to tank me, put me under? ...or did he just attempt to say thank?
Mr. Chef wrote out the list of items needed for the meals we'd eat throughout the week.The meals he would passionately prepare. With those oh so important items.
Off I went. To the largest grocery store in town.
There I was, walking up and down the aisles, piling grocery-list stuff into the rolling basket, like Espaghetti, along with all the other good things I wanted. As I approached the meat department I glanced over the list to see what Rudy was requesting.
Ground beef, steaks, SHicken, and pork SHops.
All I could do was bust out laughing. For the umpteen time that morning. Laugh right out loud. Without a care in the world. I was enjoying the fact that I had partnered up with a humorous guy.
Rudy later wrote me a note, telling me how funny it all is. How he is learning the language. At least trying to. Slowly.
"JaJaJaJaJaJaJaJaJa." He concluded the note.
"Don't you mean hahahahahahaha?" I asked.
All he could do was belly over, and laugh.
"It's the foreigner on the phone," she said, smirky smile and all.
It was then that I began to pay attention to the way he talked. The funny mistakes he made. Without realizing it.
Hungry, as children always are, we stopped at the food hut and Rudy gallantly pushed ahead of us, ordering the afternoon's meal.
"We'll have some SHilly dogs," he requested. All I can say is he has never lived that one down. His own children, years and years later, ask for SHilly dogs any chance they can get, having heard the story that took place way before their entry into this world.
Another time, long ago, when Rudy and I first began playing house, the grocery shopping needed to get done. Done that day. We needed some sustenance in our little apartment. Needed to fill that fridge. Stuff those cupboards. With food. Food that Rudy would cook. On a stove. Food that I could microwave.
Mostly, we would hit the store together, chose our personal preferences and be done with it. BUT, Rudy needed to go into work for a bit, and I just wanted to get the grocery shopping done. That morning. First thing.
"Tank you," he said to me, in appreciation of just taking care of that particular errand. I smiled. Laughed internally. Does he want to tank me, put me under? ...or did he just attempt to say thank?
Mr. Chef wrote out the list of items needed for the meals we'd eat throughout the week.The meals he would passionately prepare. With those oh so important items.
Off I went. To the largest grocery store in town.
There I was, walking up and down the aisles, piling grocery-list stuff into the rolling basket, like Espaghetti, along with all the other good things I wanted. As I approached the meat department I glanced over the list to see what Rudy was requesting.
Ground beef, steaks, SHicken, and pork SHops.
All I could do was bust out laughing. For the umpteen time that morning. Laugh right out loud. Without a care in the world. I was enjoying the fact that I had partnered up with a humorous guy.
Rudy later wrote me a note, telling me how funny it all is. How he is learning the language. At least trying to. Slowly.
"JaJaJaJaJaJaJaJaJa." He concluded the note.
"Don't you mean hahahahahahaha?" I asked.
All he could do was belly over, and laugh.
