Let me preface this story by saying that there’s nothing that makes you feel quite as inadequate as trying to have a conversation in a foreign language with a five-year-old native speaker.

This was bound to happen to me sooner or later, as I walk Cody through our residential neighborhood twice a day on our way to the woods, and there are often kids out playing in the street in the afternoon.

On one such afternoon, Cody and I were approaching the end of the street and saw a couple of little boys riding their bikes in circles ahead of us. I’ve had one or two encounters with little kids before, but usually they just stare as we go by and don’t say anything. (Although there was that time the little boy yelled at me over and over again because he wanted to pet Cody, but I didn’t understand him. Fortunately his mother came to my rescue.)

This time, however, as soon as I got within earshot, one of the kids started yelling, "Wie heißt du? Wie heißt du?"

This gave me a moment’s pause, since I wasn’t sure if he was addressing me or the dog. I had always assumed that Germans were born with an intrinsic knowledge of the proper use of Sie and du (the formal and informal "you," respectively), but it occurred to me that kids use du amongst themselves, even if they aren’t close friends.

If this small boy assumed that I was more kid-like than adult-like, then maybe he would address me as du - or maybe he was just talking to the dog.

I decided to cover all my bases and told them both my name and Cody’s.

The boy came to a sudden stop, gave me a puzzled look, and said, "Was?" I told him I was an American so my dog and I had American names.

I was hoping the boy was old enough to know something about America, or at least the existence of other languages, but I wasn’t getting much feedback one way or the other. He decided to move on from our funny names and proceeded to ask me why Cody had a leash around his nose.

At least I understood enough to pick up the words Leine and Nase ("leash" and "nose"). I explained that Cody’s halter is wie ein Pferd ("like a horse") and used some sign language to demonstrate that it was besser to pull on a halter around his nose than on a collar around his throat.

This jumbled explanation did not satisfy the little boy, who wrinkled up his forehead and, in the fashion of all inquisitive children the world over, asked, "Warum?" I shrugged helplessly. The other little boy had apparently become bored with this line of conversation and started pedaling again, proudly telling me about his Fahrrad.

At this point an older man, who was apparently the boys’ supervisor – grandfather perhaps – showed up. He gave me the once-over and muttered, "Grüß Gott" (a traditional Schwäbisch greeting).

I definitely got the feeling that he was wondering what this strange woman was doing talking to his young charges, with a potentially aggressive dog (some people wrongly assume that Cody’s halter is a muzzle) to boot.

He showed up just as I was once again trying to explain to the boys that I didn’t speak a lot of German (a fact that they completely ignored), so I gave the man a desperate look and asked him if he spoke English. He said, "a little," but didn’t offer to actually speak any more of it.

One of the boys asked why Cody was whining, and the man said he thought it was because Cody was young and wanted to play. I agreed heartily with this explanation, and said, "Ja, er möchte spielen." Then the little boy turned to me and asked if Cody could play with them.

The man looked slightly horrified and I quickly replied sorry, but we really needed to go for our run. The man nodded vigorously and told the little boy that the dog couldn’t play right now because he needed to go laufen im Wald.

At this point I felt like the conversation had run its course, so I wished them all a good day and went on my way. I think the man was quite relieved to see me go.

January 2007

Copyright The Hausfrau 2007

Subject: Germany, Hausfrau, blog, expat, Americans, Stuttgart