Rolling Rolling Rolling

Tehva's teacher approaches me with her face drawn in concern. Her skin shines like chocolate pudding, although there is nothing yielding or soft about her demeanor. She is a force to be reckoned with and Tehva's stubborness is no match for her. Deep in my heart, I think Tehva should go live with her until she turns 16 and then, when she is more manageable, I might consider taking her back. "Tehva cannot roll her Rs," Teacher announces.

"Do you mean in Arabic?" I ask. Arabic has more than its fair share of sounds that English speakers normally never would consider legitimate noises to be made in polite company. There is even one letter that we refer to in our household as "Spit". It's the H-sound that you make way down in the base of your throat. See, now doesn't "The Letter Spit" explain it so much more succinctly?

"No, not in Arabic. In English. She cannot roll her Rs." I consider this statement and quickly cycle through the catalogue of sounds that we use each day in English. Rolling Rs is not one that pops into my mind. Have I ever rolled an R in English? Nope, don't think so. Should I let Teacher know that? She is not a native English speaker, although she a is a fluent speaker...maybe she is not aware?

And so I blurt out, "Well, in American English we do not roll our Rs. This is a new sound for her."

Teacher does not respond but instead glares and then turns her back to me. She returns to redirecting four-year-old Mohammed, who is holding his pencil like a switch blade, trying to write his name in English. Even if he cannot hold a writing implement without looking like he is about to commit a major crime, I'll bet he can roll his Rs.

"Mohammed, what are you doing? This is not how we hold our pencil. Look, Mohammed." Teacher points to a giant poster of a hand gripping a pencil in the approved manner. Mohammed looks at the THE HAND solemnly and then goes back to his labored name writing.

"Perhaps you could work with her on rolling her Rs at home." I want to snort at this obvious attempt at humor and then see that Teacher is not trying to be funny at all. So instead of making rude noises I try to picture myself skipping about the school room between math lessons and writing assignments, rolling my Rs in English words that should not roll at all--Rrrrrrrobot, Rrrrrurrritan, Rrrrreverrrrie. "Yes, we will do that," I resond and then pack Tehva up to head back to the Marble Mansion.

I spend the next week very puropsefully never rolling my Rs and, in my deception, I feel a tinge of guilty before the feeling slips away.

A week later Tehva will not stop rolling her Rs. She began rolling them spontaneously and constantly repeats, "Amerrrrican, Amerrrrrican, Amerrrrica. Arrrrrba, Arrrrrba, Arrrrrba," as she skips through the bedrooms on the second floor. She pats her shoulders and says, "Butt, butt, butt." She pats other body parts and pronounces their names in Arabic, too. All of the words she has chosen to practice (with the exception of "butt") have rolly Rs in them, but the only word I have retained is "Butt". I know, grow up.

Teacher smiled at me this morning when I dropped Tehva off for her 8 a.m. Arabic class. Tehva is the token Whitie in the class, studying her body parts, chanting snippets of the Quran, and rolling her Rs with the other little Omani kids who surround her. Teacher was pleased today that we worked so hard on rolling the Rs as Tehva can now keep up with everyone else when it comes to Rrrrrrrrrrrr. Whew. She can finally speak English properly.

Go Churrrrrrrrtle Go.