“If you like, leave a message.”  

‘If you like’ is the first expression I unintentionally taught Jack. He heard it on my voicemail when he called to schedule a service call to fix my fridge. It was 2009 when we had landlines and voicemail, and left messages. That voicemail resulted in our nine year relationship, one that was made richer in part by our shared project - him to master English, me to better understand how difficult English is to learn.

We could compare idioms for hours. 

I’d say: “In English, we say, ‘Not my cup of tea’.” 

“In Polish, it’s, ‘not my pair of shoes’,” he’d reply.

We shared in the excitement when the translation would be direct! And analyzed why expressions evolved differently in our respective languages. 

Some time into our relationship, I learned Polish has no articles, explaining his cavalier attitude about using them in English. 

“Jack, there is a big difference between ‘the pot’ and ‘pot’.” This example resonated most clearly for him.

“Articles matter,” became one of my new favourite comments. 

“Fucking English,” was often his response, sometimes “the fucking English.” 

I was never sure if he was making fun of the randomness of articles or simply referring to The English. Funny either way. 

As undisciplined as he was in many ways, he was my model language student. I was proud each time he gave up a bad habit. Like when he finally started to say “some other” instead of “some another,” as in “some another asshole cut me off on the highway.” That still makes me laugh! 

I remember the day he discovered to be ‘thrilled’ is positive. To him, it understandably implied something negative. Regardless, he’d always say ‘thrilled, in a good way’ just to be clear. I still add in a good way silently. 

I loved how he would assume a Polish word with a Latin root would “work” in English: he’d switch out an ending and just go for it. (I also loved the fact he knew which Polish words came from what language grouping.) 

“But that doesn’t work in English,” I’d say. 

And he’d reply “OK, but it should.” 

English teaching wasn’t all one direction. One day he told me someone was an ‘analphabet.’ 

“That’s not a word,” I said categorically. 

“It has to be,” he said. 

As I so often did, I pulled out my phone to prove myself correct. And damnit, if it isn’t a word after all! A person who cannot read, an illiterate. He was right. I was wrong. He loved that. 

I said: “But it’s not a common word, Jack. I have a very good English vocabulary, and if I don’t know it as a word, it’s not a word you should be using if you want to be understood.” 

We laughed a lot about analphabet. After that, each time he took a risk with a word and it didn’t seem right to me, I’d say “that’s not a word in common usage, Jack” and we’d give each other a knowing look.  

Sometimes the words he tried to use in English became part of our inside language. Example, fanaberia. We never nailed down the English equivalent that satisfied Jack, even though the Polish/English translation website said it meant ‘whims.’ He said I had a lot of fanaberia regarding home decor. I dismissed a lot of his business ideas as fanaberia. I think fanaberia is one of those words that means what you want it to mean. 

There were a number of expressions he just never quite figured out. 

“Only shit!” he’d say, “Polish government is cutting back power of constitutional court.” (Articles were the first to be sacrificed during Polish political crises.) 

“Jack,” I’d respond, "it’s holy shit.” 

He’d say “yeah, yeah,” and he’d drift back to reading his weekly newspaper, Nie, mumbling “fucking asshole, Kaczyński.” His mastery of English profanity was as well developed as mine but I can take no credit - this he brought with him to the relationship. 

His take on other English words or expressions were much better than the real thing. 

“It’s grizzling out,” he’d say. Or he’d call me a “smart-panties” when I’d point out something that annoyed him. 

These were too fun - I never corrected them.

Yet other expressions were better in his fun-loving linguistic hands than the real thing when he started mashing the languages together deliberately. 

“Smart cookinski,” he’d say proudly when I made a smooth change into a lane where I could accelerate through an area of high traffic (for Jack, there was nothing better than a strategic highway move). 

Everything soon had an “inski” or an “inska” attached to it. I still say to my dog “into the kitcheninski” or ask “are you ready for dinnerinski?”

And then there were the dog names themselves - they all received multiple names, some Polish, but the best renaming was for our pup, Bidi, who soon became Bidiot (in English) and Bidiotka (in Polish). Over time, anyone could be a Bidiot but mostly it applied only to Jack, as in “you’re a Bidiot, but you’re my Bidiot.”  

I’m grateful for those many hours poring over English with Jack and pouring English into Jack. He required me to be more analytical, think about my audience, and choose my words wisely. He made me a clearer speaker and a better writer.

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