Published in Amsterdam Quarterly literary magazine, third quarter 2017

While spring cleaning this year, I came across a small canvas bag emblazoned with the words “Chirag Premium Rose Long Kernel Basmati Rice. Product of Pakistan.”

Perhaps others could discard this humble item, but I cannot. It is a memento of the sweet students I taught eight years ago, refugees from Bhutan, at a time when I was a stranger in a strange land of my own.

In early 2009, my husband found the perfect job in Houston, Texas. After a few years in Washington, D.C., I simply wanted to go home to Ohio, but that wasn’t meant to be.

Houston is a fine place for people who call it “home,” but for me, the “everything-is-bigger-in-Texas” mentality made me feel small, insignificant, alone. Everyone seemed to own a gun, and weapons scared me. The Texas drawl was annoying for this fast-talking Yankee. Texas politics were ultra-conservative to my liberal bent. The beef-centric cuisine did not appeal to this part-time vegan. This city was not for me, to say the very least.

While in D.C., I taught English as a Second Language, or ESL, to the spouses of wealthy expats. Many of my students had a little English background and were quite easy to teach. When our sessions were done, they presented me with expensive jewelry. I was uncomfortable accepting such items—I was just doing my job!—but a refusal would have offended the students. I learned to simply say “Thank you.”

Soon after arriving in Houston, I received my first assignment, a six-week class to be held in the old party room of a rundown, Houston apartment complex. I was going to work with Bhutanese refugees. It wasn’t exactly the luxurious suburban homes of D.C. expats, but it got me out of my house.

A case manager briefed me on my new students, explaining how they became homeless in this world, a sad old tale about hatred against one’s neighbor. On a less profound note, she added that their apartment furnishings were only second-hand card tables, folding chairs, mattresses, and pillows. Even pretty containers and bags from grocery goods became prized possessions.

Refugees brought to the United States have six months to get a job. They must learn English. They are provided housing, food, and the other essentials of life but are expected to be self-supporting quickly. And I wanted to help.

On my first day of class, lessons plans in hand, I waited for my students. Into that old party room they came, raven-haired women wearing the brightly-coloured saris and the red bindi of their Hindu culture. The men dressed as casually as any other Texan, clad in t-shirts and jeans. About a third were young married women, another third, their husbands, and the rest were elderly. The young students were definitely motivated to learn English not only to fulfil the language requirement but to help them converse with doctors, store clerks, and their children’s teachers.

Usually ESL teachers employ an immersive approach, not allowing anything but the target language in the classroom. This assumes that students are already literate in their own tongues, but I immediately discovered that half of the Bhutanese students couldn’t even use a pen.

Fortunately, an intense young man, Tashi, was able to assist me. He had taught beginning English to his compatriots in their Nepali refugee camps, and they trusted him. Tashi helped me demonstrate how to pick up pens and make letters and numbers. He also translated for the pre-literate students, but most of the time I came up with communication techniques. A smile is the same in every language, so I smiled at lot, even though it felt forced. I mimed verbs such as “walk” and “eat,” and the photos in our textbook illustrated many concepts. I repeated myself constantly until the students could replicate those basic sounds of English.

After a couple weeks, laughter and hesitant conversation filled that old party room, and my own smiles were no longer artificial but heartfelt. Through “my refugees,” I found purpose in Houston. I felt at home.

But it certainly wasn’t all happy. I soon learned that teaching English involves more than articulating phonemes. I learned to ignore textbook pages with photos of hamburgers, televisions, Christmas presents, or Hollywood actors—these topics were irrelevant to students whose culture was not at all Western. I sometimes jumped ahead to chapters explaining how to call for immediate medical, police, or fire response. I empathized with mothers who were preoccupied with worries about sick children. I applauded the efforts of the shy elderly students who could finally say “Nice to meet you” after four weeks.

On our last day of class, one of those young women starting crying. “You teach us no more,” she said sadly. The language school I worked for didn’t ask me to work another six-week session, tersely stating that these good people needed to find jobs immediately, fluent or not. That angered me, so before I left them, I connected the students with a local Hindu charity that I found.

And then it was time for me to walk away from the refugees who made me feel at home in Houston. As I was about to say a final farewell, Tashi and a couple young women approached my desk, the entire classroom breaking out in big smiles. He handed me a plastic grocery bag. “Our gift to you,” he said proudly. To thank you.” Inside was the canvas rice bag, folded carefully, the most precious gift I have ever received. Given to me with gratitude and love, I will always cherish it. AQ

 

What did you say?

I was teaching an advanced-level second language student one day. As I always do, I asked questions simply to hear what pronunciation problems each student might have. One question I asked, “How did you meet your wife?” While his pronunciation was mostly impeccable, one word he said stumped me for a second. “I was BEST man at a wedding, and I met her there,” he replied.

“BEST man.” What’s that, I thought? Ohhhhh, he meant to say best MAN! Again, the pronunciation of this compound noun was perfectly fine, but the stress–putting emphasis on the wrong syllable–made me realize that this student needed some accent modification training. That’s a fancy term for teaching the rhythm, stress, intonation, and other speech patterns of American English. This is a highly-stressed language, and misplacement of stressed syllables = msunderstandings. (For some reason, this concept is not discussed as much as it should be in English classes from beginner to advanced.)

Ever feel misunderstood? I provide a free initial consultation to determine where you could use a little (or a lot) of accent modification training. Just complete the form below, including any questions you might have, and I’ll get back to you ASAP.

An ESL curriculum example

Posted on July 17, 2020

TOEIC test items 1-2

1-2   Read a Text Aloud

Responses for questions 1 and 2 will each be given a score. One will be for pronunciation, and the other for stress and intonation.

Stress and intonation

One critical component of correctly speaking English is knowing when and where to use stress. An English sentence should never be spoken in a flat way, called a “monotone.”

Look at the example below. Put the accent, known as “stress” in English, on the words or syllables shown in boldface:

Never speak English in a monotone.

Another very important aspect of English is intonation, or rising and falling pitch. When speaking English, think of peaks and valleys. The most important words in the sentence—the ones that carry the most meaning—will have a rising pitch.

Here’s an example of the proper use of stress and intonation in the same sentence.

Never speak ^English in a ^monotone.

Note that the last syllable in the sentence, [tone], has falling pitch.

Another example of the proper use of rising and falling pitch, along with the use of proper stress, is shown below:

When speaking ^ENglish, think of ^PEAKS and ^VALleys.

Note that rising pitch is normally used at the end of a question, such as:

Did you ever learn about stress and intonation in an English language ^CLASS?

Pronunciation

English pronunciation is known for being very difficult.  Just when the French speaker understands a pronunciation rule, out jumps an exception to that rule.  Below are just a few English sounds that French speakers mispronounce, or, perhaps, overpronounce:

[th]    The English [th] as in “three” is often mispronounced as an s or f, sounding like [sree] or ]free].

[r]       The throat expands when Americans say the [r] sound, but the French [r] starts at the back of the tongue, then rubss against the soft palate. Both sounds are extremely different from each other.

[ə]       The most common vowel sound in English is the schwa. This is the unstressed syllable in words with more than one syllable. For example, that very word is pronounced “sil UH bul.”  The primary sound that is stressed is the “UH” in the middle of the word, and the schwa, or unstressed sound, is “bul.” (The first syllable has secondary stress.) The French typically stress every syllable, making words sound too clipped. This is why a good grasp of English stress patterns is so important.

[æ]     This basic English sound, as in the word [cat], doesn’t exist in French. The French speaker will usually pronounce it as [ket].

[i]       Phonetic symbols such as the one to the left certainly make things more difficult when it comes to pronunciation. While this particular symbol looks like the short “I” sound used in such words as “sit,” it is actually the long E sound of “keep.”

[I]       This is the phonetic symbol for “sit.” French speakers usually mispronounce the short [i] in words such as “sit” to the long E sound.  Thus, “sit” sounds like “seet.” It’s a good idea to practice differentiating words such as bit, beat, bid, bead. 

[ɒ]      The word “lot” is often pronounced with the sound of “oh,” which would seem to be correct. However, this sound should actually sound like “ah,” so the word should be pronounced as “laht.”

[ü]      The French speaker normally overpronounces this sound to “ooh,” making the word “could” sound like “cooled.”

The following scoring guide will be used to evaluate your spoken response:

SCORING GUIDE FOR QUESTIONS 1 AND 2: PRONUNCIATION

SCORE	RESPONSE DESCRIPTION
3	Pronunciation is highly intelligible, though the response may include minor lapses and/or other language influence.
2	Pronunciation is generally intelligible, though it includes some lapses and/or other language influence.
1	Pronunciation may be intelligible at times, but significant other language influence interferes with appropriate delivery of the text.
0	No response OR no English in the responseOR response is completely unrelated to the test

Inflection

If you are reading something aloud with any type of positive emotional message, you modulate you voice, meaning you “add a smile” to what you say.  However, if you read a death notice, you modulate your voice to imply sadness. This is called “inflection.”

There are varying degrees of inflection that are used in reading aloud. Not everything is “happy,” so you read the words with no emotion. This doesn’t mean you forget about stress and intonation, though. Those are still critical elements in reading and, of course, in speaking English.

You also need to remember that a question normally ends with a rising pitch and that  an exciting message ends with an exclamation mark. Show enthusiasm when you see an exclamation mark! Finally, a sentence normally ends with a falling pitch.

Read the following simple statements out loud for practice:

1. I can’t believe I won!
2. Could you please pass me the salt?
3. The meeting minutes will be given at the beginning of the meeting.

******************************

There are two Read-a-Text-Aloud questions on the TOEIC Speaking Test. In each question, the directions and Read-a-Text-Aloud text will appear on your screen. You will hear the directions being read by the narrator.

After 45 seconds, you will hear “Begin reading aloud now.” Then you will read the text, and your response will be recorded. An example is below.

Directions: In this part of the test, you will read aloud the text on the screen. You will have 45 seconds to prepare. Then you will have 45 seconds to read the text aloud.

The scoring guide below will be used to evaluate your spoken response:

SCORING GUIDE FOR QUESTIONS 1 AND 2: INTONATION AND STRESS

SCORE	RESPONSE DESCRIPTION
3	Use of emphases, pauses, and rising and falling pitch is appropriate to the text.
2	Use of emphases, pauses, and rising and falling pitch is generally appropriate to the text, though the response includes some lapses and/or moderate other language influence.
1	Use of emphases, pauses, and rising and falling pitch is not appropriate, and the response includes significant other language influence.
0	No response OR no English in the response OR the response is completely unrelated to the test.

The following paragraph is the type you will read aloud on the TOEIC. Read the following paragraph silently, then answer the questions that follow.

¹For many brides to be, planning a wedding is stressful. ²You strive to find the right dress, reception hall, flowers, cake, reception food, and many other details. ³However, there’s just too much to do, and you keep arguing with your spouse-to-be! ⁴To avoid all these pre-wedding problems, please contact fairytales.com, the premiere wedding planning company. ⁵With 30 years of experience, we have been making brides and grooms very happy for a long time! ⁶We want our couples to start out their married life in the most blissful, stress-free way possible. ⁷In fact, our motto is “A happy marriage begins as a fairy tale.” ⁸May we bring yours to life?

1. What is the message of this paragraph? Is it happy or sad? Would you read it with a smile in your voice or with sadness?
2. Would you use rising or falling pitch on the last syllable at the end of sentence 1?
3. Which words would you stress in sentence 2?
4. Would you read sentence 3 in a flat, emotionless tone? How about sentence 5?
5. Which words would you stress in sentence 6?
6. Would you use rising or falling pitch on the last word of the paragraph?

Leave a commentEdit

We often hear that “Christmas is for kids.” We cherish images of toddlers entranced by twinkling tree lights and enjoy watching little ones rip open bright-colored packages. At this most sentimental time of year, we hear songs about mommy kissing Santa Claus and read about Tiny Tim. Children are at the heart of our secular holiday.

And yet, I maintain that the holy day of Christmas is for adults, world-weary, cynical, sad adults. We crave the great joy proclaimed, especially during this sad, troubling year. In trying to find some sense of normalcy and comfort, my friends and I are decorating earlier than usual, agreeing that “We need a little Christmas, right this very minute.” However, while putting up our boughs of holly, we are preoccupied with concerns right now. Can we invite extended family to our houses on Christmas Day? How can we care for vulnerable little ones while unemployed? Can we afford gifts?

A young pregnant woman struggled with worrisome thoughts 2000 years ago. After an exhausting journey, she and her husband were desperate for shelter. They were turned away until finally finding refuge in a cave.

“And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.” While no extended family showed up, the baby was greeted by shepherds, strangers who knew the child was destined for greatness. Angels sang, and a star in the sky shone far brighter than any tree lights. 

There were gifts, too. Three more strangers came to greet that family in the cave, carrying treasures more exotic than anything on Amazon.

And when our Emmanuel grew into adulthood, experiencing everything that maturity brings, He reminded us to be of good cheer, to be unafraid, to know we are loved, greatly loved. And He promised us eternal life if we but followed in His love.

“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; upon those who lived in a land of gloom, a light has shone.” That light has sustained us through 2020’s pandemic, recession, political strife, and unrest. It shines on, and the darkness has not overcome it. Light will always overcome darkness.

Christmas is a gift of a child made present to adults. Those of us who are labor and are heavily burdened have the greatest of reasons to rejoice, this year and always.

https://www.cleveland.com/metro/2017/06/husbands_stroke_is_cautionary.html

Do you kids need some help with their reading homework, writing assignments, or just overall English classroom instruction? Need another friendly face helping them on Zoom.us? Contact me, and we’ll work out a plan. We’ll all get through this pandemic, and online learning, together.

If your kids complain about taking state standardized tests, especially the Language Arts part, now you know who writes some of that content. Not for every state or test, mind you, but enough of them. I've also written chapters of textbooks, teacher lesson plans, and ESL curriculum.

Read the two selections, then answer the questions that follow them.

Dear Diary: Eman’s First Day of School

Dear Diary

Monday, January 31

1          Today was my first day of school in America. I was so excited! Sixth grade was going to be wonderful. I love school. My favorite subjects are math and English, and I love to learn. Back at my old school in Saudi Arabia, I had many friends, and I knew I’d make lots of friends in Texas, too.

2          I chose my prettiest blue sweater and nicest pair of jeans to wear, and I picked out my lacy white scarf to cover my hair. Before I left for school, I looked in the mirror. I thought I looked nice but not flashy. “Muslim girls should always be modest in dress,” my mom always said. “And at your age, you need to wear the hijab over your hair.”

3          After hugging my mom and saying goodbye, I walked down the street to the bus stop. Three girls were waiting there. One had dark skin and black hair, another was blonde, and the other was Asian. I smiled and said “hi,” but they all rolled their eyes and smirked. They started whispering to each other while pointing at me. Just then, a tall white boy walked toward me.

4          “Who are you?” the tallest boy asked. He didn’t smile at me. He had red hair and lots of freckles.

5          “Hi! I’m Eman,” I said. “How are you?”

6          “We don’t want your kind around here,” the boy said, sneering. “And what’s with the  tablecloth on your head? Are you bald or something?”

7          Everyone started laughing. “Yeah, take that thing off,” the dark-skinned girl said. “No, wait! Let’s take it off for you!”

8          The girls came over and started grabbing my hijab, but I ran away from them. In fact, I ran back home. I didn’t know what else to do.

9          I ran into the house, and Mom looked startled. “What happened, Eman?” she asked.

10        All I could do was sob. I was finally able to tell her what happened. Then she drove me to school.

11        We went to the principal’s office. “Take a seat,” the lady said. “I’m Mrs. Lloyd. How can I help you?”

12        My mom told Mrs. Lloyd what happened. The principal sighed. “I’m so sorry that you were treated badly, young lady,” she said. I was still too shocked and sad to hear everything she said, but I did hear the words “diversity” and “respect.” 

13        “Eman,” Mrs. Lloyd said, getting my attention. “I’ll make an announcement later. In the meantime, I want you to go to class. I’ll walk you over there.”

14        My mom looked at me and said, “I’ll pick you up after school, Eman.” She hugged me, and I was suddenly afraid to leave her. I think she could tell I was scared. She looked serious but had a little grin on her face. “Hold your head up high.”

15        Mrs. Lloyd and I walked down the hallway together. “Your first class isn’t really a class, Eman. It’s homeroom. You go there every day before classes.”

16        “Oh, okay,” I replied.

17        “Eman, what happened at the bus stop is just appalling,” Mrs. Lloyd said. “I apologize.”

18        I didn’t say anything. I was still shocked that kids were cruel to me. I’m a very nice person, I thought. My classmates at my old school were all my friends. I missed them, and I expected that kids at my new school would be friendly. As we walked down the hall, I kept looking down at my brand-new red sneakers, squeezing back the tears that started falling out of my eyes.

19        Mrs. Lloyd introduced me to the class, and I stared at my sneakers again. “I expect that you will treat Eman the way you want to be treated, with respect,” she said with a stern voice. “We value diversity at this school.” She pointed at a desk at the front of the class. “Sit here today, Eman.”

20        I hated being the center of attention. I just wanted to the kids to like me.

21        “Hi,” someone said. It was a girl who sat a couple seats behind me in the next row. She wore the hijab! “My name’s Sahar. I like your sweater.”

22        “Hi!” I replied. Someone in my new school looked like me, and she had a name like mine. Suddenly, I felt much better.

Use Dear Diary: Eman’s First Day of School to answer questions 1-6

1. What does the word “modest” mean in paragraph 2?

A.  Clean

B.  Tasteful

C.  Boring

D.  Pretty

2.   Why does the story mention what the girls at the bus stop looked like?

A.  They are all diverse group of girls.

B.  They all look different from each other.

C.  They should know better than to be intolerant to another girl when they are all different from each other.

D.  Eman has never seen girls who don’t look or dress like her.

3. Why is Eman so sad about a few students being cruel to her?

A.  She had no expectation that young people at her new school would treat her badly.

B.  She had many friends in Saudi Arabia.

C.  She is friendly.

D.  She missed her friends in Saudi Arabia.

4.   Why does Eman’s mother tell her to “hold her head up high”?

A.  She thinks that Eman looks sad.

B.  She wants Eman to become a snob.

C.  She thinks Eman should ignore mean kids.

D.  She is encouraging Eman to be proud of the unique person that she is.

5.   Why does Eman feel better at the end of the story?

A.  Someone sat close to Eman, and that made her feel better.

B.  She found a friendly girl who appears to be a lot like her.

C.  Someone talked to her.

D.  Eman felt good because Sahar complimented Eman on her clothes.

6.   Which summary is the most appropriate?

A. Eman is excited about going to her new school but soon finds out that some students are cruel. She is frightened and runs home, crying. Her mother drives her back to school and encourages her to be strong. Eman feels lonely and sad until she finds someone like her that makes her feel accepted.

B. Eman doesn’t care about learning anything at her new school, but she does look forward to making friends there. She is sad when some young people are mean to her, but she brushes it off.

C. Eman is excited about attending her first American school. She dresses with great care, but some young people treat her badly because she wears a hijab. Other young people ignore her completely. No one talks to her at school, and she feels lonely.

D. Eman looks forward to going to school and thinks she will have many friends. She is disappointed when some fellow students are mean to her but thinks that’s their loss.

A New Life

1            “My father need medicine,” a boy with sad eyes said to the pharmacy clerk. “I am Talashi. His name Phem.”

2   The clerk looked blankly at him. “Does he have an insurance card?” he asked.

 3          “I need fill this for my dad,” Talishi repeated as his father handed the paper to the clerk.

4          “Does your father have an insurance card?” the clerk asked.

5          Talashi shook his head. “No,we refugees. Bhutan,” Talashi replied. “We in United States only month.”

6          “You’ve been here only a month?”

7          “Yes, sir.”

8          The clerk looked first at Talashi, then at his father. “I cannot fill this prescription without payment,” he said flatly.

9          “But sir, the doctor gave to my father. My father’s heart—“

10        “Can’t he speak English?” the clerk interrupted, pointing at Phem. “I can’t fill this without someone paying for it.”

11        “No,” Talashi said. “He never learn.”

12        “I can’t help you.” The clerk motioned to the man standing behind Talashi. “Next in line, please.”

13        “But sir! Government pay our rent, pay for doctors–”

14     “I need you to pay for medicine now. You can’t.” The clerk looked coldly at Talashi. “Next in LINE, please,” he said.

15        Talashi took Phem by the hand, leading him from the line. The boy was both angry and sad. A few people were looking at them. The boy looked down at his feet, then spoke to his father in Nepali, their native tongue.

16        Phem wiped tears away from his eyes. Talashi hated seeing his father’s tears; when he cried, Talashi cried. They walked to the front door, and as they were about to go outside, they heard a deep male voice say, “Young man!”

17        Turning around, Talashi and Phem saw a uniformed man hurrying toward them. Phem broke free of Talashi’s grasp and started to run into the parking lot.

18        “Wait! Please wait,” the man cried, catching up to Phem. “Here,” he said, offering a small white bag to Phem. “Here’s your medicine.”

19        Phem looked scared and wouldn’t take the bag. Talashi caught up to him.

20        “Please take it, sir,” the man said gently. “I’m Officer Nagy. 

21        Phem started wailing. He shook his hands as if to say “no.”

22        The officer looked surprised and handed the bag to Talashi.

23        “You pay for it?” Talashi asked.

24        Officer Nagy shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah. My dad was a refugee. From Hungary, years ago. It was hard for him. I understand. Oh, wait, let me read you the directions,” Officer Nagy said, gesturing to Talashi to give the bag back to him. The officer took the vial out of the bag. “Okay, it says ‘take once per day with water in the morning. It may cause drowsiness’, so make sure your dad doesn’t drive.”

25        “We no drive,” Talashi said. “We take bus.”

26        “Well, it might make your father tired anyhow,” Officer Nagy said, smiling.

27        “Okay, sir. You are very kind!” Talashi exclaimed.

28        The officer shrugged his shoulders again. “It’s nothing. Hey, where did you learn English, Tashi?”

29        “Talashi, sir,” the boy corrected. “I learn a little in refugee camps in Nepal. I understand better than speak.”

30        “You speak pretty good,” Officer Nagy replied. “Give me your address. I’ll drive you home.”

31        “In apartment about mile away,” Talashi said, pointing down the street. “My mother and father and two brothers, two sisters, we happy to be inside.”

32        “Walk this way,” Officer Nagy said, starting to lead Talashi and Phem to his car. Phem took Talashi’s hand again. He still looked frightened.

33        Officer Nagy noticed the expression on Phem’s face. “Why is he afraid of me?”

34        “Police burn down his house in Bhutan. Force him and family to leave country. He terrified of policeman.”

35        “Oh, man, I’m sorry,” Officer Nagy said quietly. “C’mon, hop in,” he said, opening the front passenger car door.

36        Talashi said something to Phem in Nepali, and Phem relaxed a little.

37        “You said before that you are happy ‘to be inside’ in an apartment. What does that mean?” Officer Nagy asked.

38        “Oh, I was born in refugee camp. Everything outside. Winter, spring, fall, summer, we live outside. Rain. Sun,” Talashi said.

39        “How did you learn English?” Officer Nagy asked as he drove down the street.

40        “Oh, a volunteer teacher from India,” Talashi replied.

41        “But your father didn’t learn,” Officer Nagy said quietly.

42        Talashi sighed. “He no learn. Cry a lot. Want to go home.”

43        “Oh, Officer replied. “I’m sorry. Can he ever go back to…what’s the name of the country?”

44        “Bhutan. Between India and China. Next to Nepal,” Talashi answered. “No. Bhutan no take us back. Ever. New home in America.”

45        The three men drove in silence for a few minutes.

46        “Apartment here,” Talashi said, pointing straight ahead.

47        “Okay,” Officer Nagy replied. He stopped, then opened the door for Talashi and Phem. They all got out of the car. The officer looked around the apartment complex. “I will come by often to make sure you’re safe. You go to school, right?”

48        “Yes, sir, the school down the street.”

49        “Keep learning English. It will help you get a good job someday.”

50        “I will. Sir—you are so kind,” Talashi said. He folded his hands together in front of his chest and bowed slightly. “Namaste.”

51        “What does that mean, Talashi?”

52        “It mean, ‘I bow to you’, to someone you respect.”

53        Officer Nagy smiled. “Goodbye, Talashi. Remember, I will stop by often to check on you.”

54        Phem got out of the car and looked Officer Nagy in the eyes. He made the same gesture that Talashi had just made, and smiling, said, “Namaste.”

Use “A New Life” to answer questions 7-15

7.   Talashi’s English is not very good. Why is that important to the story?

A.  He wants to speak only Nepalese so his father understands him.

B.  He doesn’t like English.

C.  Officer Nagy wants him to keep learning English so he can get a good job in the future.

D.  It is authentic for a refugee not to have perfect English.

8.   Why is it important that the story is written almost entirely in dialogue?

A.  Dialogue can be more interesting to read than long narrative sections.

B.  The dialogue provides the literary elements of plot, conflict, and characterization and moves the story along without long narrative sections.

C.  Dialogue adds excitement to the story.

D.  The dialogue tells the complete story.

9.   What is the most appropriate adjective for Talashi?

A.  Scared      

B.  Rude

C.  Sensitive   

D.  Angry

10. What is the central conflict in the story?

A. The difficult adjustment from life in an overseas refugee camp to a new life in America.

B. Helping Phem overcome his fears.

C. Finding someone to care enough to help Phem get his needed medicine.

D. Talashi’s argument with the pharmacy sales clerk.

11. When Officer Phem drops off Taleshi and Phem at their apartment, he looks around and says “I will come by often to make sure you’re safe.” The reader can assume what from this?

A.  He worries about Phem’s mental health.

B.  He intends to stop by to talk to them.

C.  He is concerned for their safety in what appears to be a bad neighborhood.

D.  He sees bad people hanging around and doesn’t want them to hurt Talashi and Phem.

12. Why does Officer Nagy buy the medicine for Phem?

A.  He has extra money and wants to do something nice.

B.  He remembers the struggles of his immigrant father and feels sorry for Phem.

C.  He is a public servant and feels it is his duty.

D.  He wants to show off how important he is.

13. Why is it that Officer Nagy and Talashi “drove in silence for a few minutes”?

A.  Officer Nagy and Talashi have nothing else to talk about.

B.  Officer Nagy wasn’t sure exactly where Talashi and Phem lived and was concentrating on traffic.

C.  Talashi was feeling bad about not being able to return to Bhutan, and Officer Nagy was tired of talking about refugees.

D. Talashi had just told Office Nagy that he and his family can never go back to Bhutan. It is a sad moment, and Officer Nagy doesn’t know what to say.

14. What do the three main characters learn something by the end of the story?

A. Phem learns he can trust an American policeman, Talashi finds someone who encourages him in his new life in the United States, and Officer Nagy learns about the plight of Bhutanese refugees.

B. Phem learns that Americans are helpful, Talashi learns that some people are unhelpful, and Officer Nagy learns how to be kind.

C. Phem learns to be unafraid, Talashi learns more English, and Officer Phem learns that some Americans are unkind.

D. Phem learns to respect policemen, Talashi learns that American policemen are caring, and Officer Phem learns that pharmacy clerks can be uncaring.

15. Why do Talashi and Phem both bow to Officer Nagy and say “Namaste” at the end of the story?

A. They know that Officer Nagy sacrificed for them.

B. They are showing their respect to Officer Nagy who was kind and generous to them.

C. They think they’ll never see Officer Nagy again.

D. They are relieved that Officer Nagy bought the medicine for Phem.

Answer Key and Explanation

1. B.“Modest” can be understood in context because Eman says that “she looked nice but not flashy” in the preceding sentence.

2. C. While sixth graders probably don’t understand irony, they can understand that three girls of different ethnicities shouldn’t be making fun of anyone else; they had probably all experienced some type of discrimination already in their young lives.

3. A. Since Eman felt that everyone at her old school in Saudi Arabia was her friend, she had no way of knowing that students at her new school in Texas would be unfriendly to her. It was sad and shocking for her.

4. D. Eman’s mother could have taken her back home, but she wanted Eman to learn to be proud of herself and not let other students make her feel inferior or ashamed of who she is.       

5. B. Eman realizes that not everyone is like her at the school and some that may not like her for who she is. She is relieved and hopeful to find someone who is like her and seems hopeful that she’ll have a new friend.

6. A. The other answers are incorrect in at least one aspect of their descriptions. Answer B is incorrect because Eman does enjoy learning; C is incorrect because Sahar is friendly to her at the end of the story; D is incorrect because nowhere in the story does it mention that she thinks that other students are losing out by not being her friend.

7. D. People whose first language is not English cannot be expected to speak the language as well as a native speaker. This would be particularly true for a poor refugee.

8. B. While there is some truth to each of the answers, the most relevant explanation is that dialogue was used in the story to advance the literary elements that are important to fiction without “bogging it down” with extended narrative.

9. C. While it is stated early in the story that Talashi had tired eyes, one of his main character traits is his sensitivity. He “hated to see his father’s tears” when the pharmacy sales clerk will not fill the prescription and seems genuinely touched by Officer Nagy’s generosity.

10. A. The overall conflict of the story is the adjustment of Talashi from the familiar life in Nepal to the uncertain and seemingly unkind America. While Phem seems to be dealing with post-traumatic stress and a heart condition, and Talashi tries to convince the sales clerk to give his father his needed medication, those situations in themselves are only  part of the story’s main conflict.

11. C. While the other answers might be possible, the only conclusion that can be deduced is that Officer Nagy takes note of the neighborhood and condition of Talashi’s apartment complex and is concerned for their safety.

12. B. Remembering what his father went through as an immigrant to the United States, Officer Nagy is compassionate toward another boy’s father in similar circumstances.

13. D. After Talashi made this sad but matter-of-fact comment, Officer Nagy probably didn’t know what to say to comfort or encourage the boy.

14. A. Answers B. C, and D are generalized statements that can’t be deduced from what has been said in the story, especially from the short amount of time that the three main characters spent together.

15. B. The story states that Namaste is a gesture of respect, and it is clear that both Talashi and Phem are grateful for Officer Nagy’s kindness toward them.

On warm Cleveland nights, my husband Ron sits in a cheap plastic lawn chair in our backyard. Grey hair peeks out from his blue baseball cap as he rocks back and forth, staring at our three dogs lying on the grass.

“Why do you do make that chair rock?” I once asked him.

“It helps me count. That way, I know how long the dogs have been outside. I count to 600 for Gracie and 300 for Buddy and Brandy. Then I know when to bring them in.”

“Can’t you just look at a watch?”

Ron shrugged his shoulders, looked away from me, and went back to rocking.

***************

Early fireworks crackled that sultry night of July 3, 2015 as Ron lay on the cool tile floor of the kitchen. That cool floor offered some relief after he mowed the lawn and walked the dogs on that 100° day in San Antonio. Always obstinate and proud, and, we both thought, healthy, Ron insisted that this expenditure of energy on a hot day was no big deal.

After a while, Ron dragged himself to the upstairs bathroom and threw up. Afterward, he said, “I’m gonna lie down.” Thinking it was heat exhaustion, I begged him to go to the hospital to no avail. He was too stubborn.

I sat nearby, worried, listening to the fireworks outside. Worry magnifies everything, and each firecracker that went off sounded like a bomb.

An hour later, Ron cried, “My head!” He then tried to get off the bed but couldn’t move his legs.

I knew it was a stroke—I don’t know how—but I knew. Paramedics arrived and confirmed my diagnosis. My terrified husband was placed on a gurney, arms reaching out to me, and put in an ambulance. Lights flashing, sirens screaming, the ambulance hurried away. I was waved off by the paramedics, and a neighbor drove me to the hospital.

In the ER, a gruff neurologist said Ron had “a cerebrovascular accident,” one of those medical terms more easily called “a stroke.” Within a few days, I was told that Ron had an ischemic stroke on the right side of his brain as well as a brain stem stroke. To me, it was all simply a bomb, one that left devastation in its wake, devastation that Ron and I are still dealing with three years later.

Mine is the story of spouse struck with sudden, critical illness. Terror. Excruciating pain. A rush of medical personnel. Terse voices. Arms outstretched from a husband, now critical care patient, to a wife now called “Caregiver.” My urgent prayers ascending through sobs and anguish.

After Ron’s stroke, I became a dervish of responsibility, handling many tasks while caring for dogs, looking closely at our medical plan, trying to work, and fielding phone calls from family. Hospitals, insurance companies, doctors, rehab, therapy; long, complicated forms had to be completed for everything. I couldn’t visit my critically ill husband at the hospital because I was too busy making sure he could remain at that hospital. Modern American medicine is fine, but it seems that some insurance companies cause only a tangle of confusion, frustration, and anger.

I don’t remember much about Ron’s stay in the intensive care unit. My only vivid memory is of my once stoic husband grabbing my hand, his watery blue eyes pleading, sad, scared. “Help me!” he screamed in the garbled voice of dysarthria, a speaking disorder caused by The Bomb. And I didn’t know exactly what to do, but I knew right then that for the rest of my life, I would do anything, everything, to help him.

***************

In February 2015, we moved into our dream house in a leafy neighborhood of San Antonio, Texas. Ron was hired as the senior paralegal for a company there, earning a salary that, after years of financial struggle, finally afforded us a very good life.” The sun was out every day that month, and being a transplant from Cleveland, Ohio, I marveled at the early spring. I was so very happy.

The Bomb hit, and I had no real friends in that city. Facebook became my outlet for crying out as well as my personal journal. Sadly, some people responded to my posts with, “Have faith! Be positive! Everything will be fine! He’ll get better soon!”

Such platitudes angered me. How could anyone know that Ron would “get better soon”? I simply wanted people to say they would support me through all of us this. I ached for someone, anyone, to come to my new town, let me collapse in open arms, let me sob.

But no one came.

A few weeks later, Ron was placed in a rehabilitation hospital, and one day I was invited to eat lunch with Ron and other rehab patients. At a makeshift table in the gym, I sat next to my husband as he slowly ate his meal.

Eating out had once been a favorite weekend activity, but Ron was now dealing with dysphagia, a serious swallowing difficulty. On that day, his food was indiscernible pureed glop, not exactly the meat and potatoes he was once so fond of.  Nor could he enjoy his beloved Diet Pepsi without a special thickener being stirred into it. (I tried it. It was not good.)

Directly across from Ron was an older man drinking from a small milk carton labeled “For dialysis patients.” Next to him was a quiet elderly lady who ate nothing but only pushed her fork around the plate. Across from her was a man, probably Ron’s age, who wore an expression of utter disbelief, even revulsion, that here he was now, sitting with such patients, that life could have dealt him such a bad hand as to place him at this table.

And at that time, I realized that these are dining tables that few people see, and certainly no one wants to make reservations yhere. However, these places are reserved for us all. We simply never know when our dinner plans may change.

After more than two months spent in hospitals, Ron finally came home in September 2015. For a frightening month afterward, Ron exhibited violent behavior. I had to hide every knife, pair of scissors, even gardening shears. Soon afterward, Ron’s inappropriate laughter began, followed closely by sobbing.

In more placid hours, our conversations took my breath away. I have never forgotten the words.

“I love you and will do anything for you,” I said repeatedly.

“That only makes it harder,” was his constant reply. I was still getting used to his garbled speech, but this was not difficult to understand. The tears moistening his cheeks were unspoken words. ‘I love you, too, but I don’t want to be like this.”

And Ron added, “My heart is broken every day.”

I could only hug him close. I learned two months earlier that platitudes mean nothing to the person in grief.  I forced myself not to cry; had I dissolved in tears, it would have been too much for my husband. Caregivers must be strong.

But I soon weakened. That dream house with its long staircase to the upper level became a dangerous place for someone with a severe balance disorder. The mortgage that had once been easily affordable now siphoned off our savings. I, at the age of 57, simply could not find a decent job that would support our old way of living, and even if I did, I could not leave Ron by himself. I did have an hourly online job, but without having anyone to drive Ron to his many physical and speech therapy appointments, I had to keep calling off work.

After too many nights of watching “Friends” reruns but having none in San Antonio, we moved back to Cleveland in late 2016. Back home to true friends and the familiar, we finally had some help and support.

Considering the destruction brought about by The Bomb, I know Ron’s brain couldn’t possibly have come out unscathed. Ron’s behavior and decision-making are often challenging. Very early one morning, Ron climbed up on a chair and swatted at a fly. (Being told that he will always be a fall risk did not dissuade him), and he crashed to the floor. I ran downstairs and saw my husband in a heap on the floor. Within a few days, he had a gaping leg wound. I had to take him to a wound care clinic weekly for four months and lost more work hours.

I often wonder if the medical community will ever agree on a definitive diagnosis of Ron’s current brain condition. After nearly three years and three neurologists, there is simply no consistency in the messages. At his first outpatient appointment, we waited 45 minutes for the doctor to tell us in five that Ron was doing great, all while my husband walked clumsily, coughed incessantly, and needed me to “translate” his words for this neurologist. Ensuing neurology appointments only caused confusion. One doctor diagnosed Ron with a rare disorder that was a result of the stroke, while another did not mention that disorder at all but solemnly said, “Vascular Dementia.” We are now waiting for neuropsychological testing that I hope will show the extent of brain damage.

Ron doesn’t remember important little things, such as turning off the oven or closing the garage door. When I cry about our money problems, he just stares at the television, his main activity. The once proud paralegal now collects SSDI. Maybe he just doesn’t want to respond.

I often lose my patience and snap at my husband. At those moments, I feel awful that I wasn’t kinder.

Sometimes unforeseen things happen. They are neither my fault nor Ron’s but are simply The Bomb’s after effects. Tonight, he fell hard and cut his forehead. It just happens for no reason. A few nights ago, I made some chicken that made Ron choke. I thought I put enough sauce on it, but he had to cough violently and then expel half-eaten food onto his plate. I felt both guilty that I cooked this particular meal and repulsed by seeing half-eaten food on my husband’s plate. I am ashamed of myself.

Older stroke patients have more access to caregiving services, such as transportation. Even caregiver support groups are held during the day when I must work, as if only retired people and their loved ones have serious illnesses. The Bomb hit when Ron was much too young.

But lately, to my great gratitude, we do often have more good days than bad. Ron is again taking physical and speech therapy, and his therapists are pleased by his progress. When he hears favorite songs, he breaks into a funny dance that make both of us laugh. Oh, thank God for music and for laughter!

I refuse to say that love makes everything easier. Such clichés diminish the force of an explosion. No, real love is never easy. Sometimes it is exhaustion, worry, guilt, tears, anger. I just hold my wedding vows dear, the ones that say “For better, for worse, for richer, for poor, in sickness and in health.”

And on warm Cleveland nights, my husband sits in that old lawn chair, rocking it, watching the dogs. I look at the scene with love, then walk over and put my arms around his shoulders. We both watch happy dogs that are content in the moment. I don’t know what Ron thinks about at these times, and I don’t need to know. Maybe Ron’s just glad that he’s alive, thinking, as I do, that we have survived The Bomb, picking up each shard lying on the ground and forming a new life, together, from them.

TOEIC test items 1-2