Lost in Translation

At dinner, Erika, the "muchacha" who helps my host mother, Xiomara, with housework, asked me if I have an "hijo."
Yes, I said, in short sentences (my Spanish is not good). He's 40 years old and lives in Colorado. It's a great place to go hiking. Very beautiful. Snow with skiing. I like to go there. I visited and we hiked, and looked around the mountains.
She looked at me very strangely.
After a second it dawned on me.
"Wait!" I said. "I don't have a 40-year-old child! I have a brother."
Hermano. Hijo. Similar with a big difference.

We laughed a little while, reminding me that learning and being able to poke fun at yourself and your mistakes, is half the fun of learning a new language and being in a new culture.

And hey, it was better than when I told the Brazilian military commander who was conducting a routine search of our research boat in the Amazon that I was "a little embarrassed." Or rather, that I was "a little pregnant." Small difference in words, big difference in meaning!