"Are You My Father? Then How Am I Your Grandmother?!" How Telemundo Made Me Feel Strangely Accomplished

For the length of 2011 and a month into 2012 I had the privilege of living and working as a volunteer English teacher in The Republic of Georgia. As to be expected with any international traveling there were challenges and cultural differences to overcome. How to properly refuse excessive marriage proposals or how to respectfully decline a fifth glass of wine were only a few of the How-To skills I picked up in a country abundant with oxymorons. One How-To skill I managed to borderline master was how to stay clear of engrossing myself into the drama of Spanish Telenovela's. 


I understand the soap opera's exaggerated worldwide appeal, but the steadfast determination Georgian women held to their 'stories' caught me off guard. It wasn't unlike the determination you may find with a housewife and her own daytime 'stories.' I was surprised to find that women in Georgia were looking for the same nonsensical drama in their TV sets as most women in America were also searching for. (Honestly, I was also surprised that most homes in Georgia had at least one television set.) In a way it made a lot of sense. In a country where a sexual revolution had yet to break free it made sense that Georgian women (and sometimes men) would cling onto their TV sets waiting to find out whether it was the muscle-clad businessman Carlos or the oily-haired farm boy Jorge that impregnated the innocent yet feisty Sonya. It was a cheap way to obtain all of the sexual drama so obviously lacking in a typical Georgian women's life. Telenovela's were exotic. 


It could be early or late. At home with my host-mother, fifteen minutes across town with my grandmother, or across the dirt road at my neighbors home. If I entered a room and a 'story' was on the television I would be instructed to join in and watch the fictional drama unfold. I usually did not mind since it always concluded with tea and chocolate. Not an awful set-up. 


I'd watch as five different Enrique Iglesias lookalikes would run laps around the scantily-clad Beauty chanting promises of fortune and happiness. She was almost always in tears. The tears would almost always cue the dramatic music. I could barely contain my laughter and eye-rolling. 


A huge family secret was just exposed, Beauty (or Sonya or...[insert generic name]) would break down hysterically, the weepy violins would begin playing...and commercial break. The first time I attempted to watch an episode with selected members of my host-family I thought it was a joke and I laughed. I was the only one in stitches. The others were stuck on deciphering the dialogue (the Spanish dialogue was still in-tact and at a medium volume while Georgian dialogue, dubbed over the Spanish, rang clear. It was common to hear both languages at the same time) and intentions of every character involved that they could not see through the hilarious nature of the ridiculous premise. I could only allow myself to sit for ten minutes of each episode before excusing myself to catch up on some reading, take a walk, or play with the stray dogs in the street. But it was at least an amusing ten minutes of watching both the Spanish and Georgians handle their dramatic love lives (or lack thereof). 


The only Georgian female I knew who wasn't sucked into the kaleidoscopic-like world of Telemundo broadcasting was my 15 year old host-sister Linda. She would comment on occasion how much she detested the Telenovela's and how frustrating it was to watch so much crying. 


"Everybody is always crying!" Linda would scoff. "Stupid girls!" 


Yes, Linda was a smart one. 


It was common for our television in the home to always be on. Every five minutes a commercial advertising a new serial of "Telemundo Presenta" would chime through the walls into the bedroom I shared with Linda. A deep-set voice would explain in Georgian the plot of next week's episode and end suddenly and dramatically with the words "TELEMUNDO PRESENTA!"


Eventually as Linda's English skills increased so did her level of humor, sarcasm, and wit. It was our tradition to sit in the kitchen late at night and eat sweets or drink a cup of hot chocolate. We were as silly as two girls could be at late hours consuming a bucket of sugar. 


"Linda, could you hand me a napkin?"
"No," she smiled at me.
"No?"
She shook her head.
I slammed my hand on the table. "Young lady! I am your father and you must do what I tell you to do!"
"Are you my father?!" She whipped her hair to the side and stared at me dead in the eyes. "THEN HOW AM I YOUR GRANDMOTHER?!"
"Wait, what?"
"TELEMUNDO PRESENTA! (Dun Dun Dun)"


It was the first time she Telemundo Presenta-ed me. 


"Oh, that's some good stuff," I said. "I'd watch that episode. Is there a lot of crying?"
"Of course, Gogo.* [Georgian for 'girl.'] She is his grandmother. There has to be a lot of crying."


Every now and then Linda would catch me off guard and run into our room screaming various one-liners:


"Quick, Gogo! A goat has escaped!"
"Wait, what?" 
"TELEMUNDO PRESENTA!"


                                                                 or


"My father has killed someone! But he was never my father! He was my sister!"
"Wait, huh?"
"TELEMUNDO PRESENTA!"


Eventually you could end any conversation with a "Telemundo Presenta!" 


One night Linda approached me with a proposition. 


"We should film Telemundo Presenta. I want to remember this when you are gone."
"That sounds like a great idea. What should it be about?"
"I have a story. Can you write down my words?"
"Of course."


And this is what she had me write down:

(I saw you in the garden! Don't you deny it!)

 (I just could not tell you what I wanted to tell you...)

(And our father is our brother!)

"Wait, so I was kissing my brother in the garden then?"
"It does not matter," Linda waved her hands in the air. "That was so long ago. Nobody will remember."
"All right, if you say so. This is your Telemundo."


After a couple of takes and one interruption from Meri, Linda's mother (it was after Midnight...), wondering what all of the screaming was about we finally got our 'picture.' It was also Linda's idea to set the alarm on her telephone so it would appear that the two-timing Alejandro was calling her. She's one for details. 

(Telemundo Presenta: Secret of Relationship)

It has been about three months since I've been back home in America. Looking at my papers and videos from Georgia and especially from this one night with Linda I am struck with a thought. Perhaps enough time has passed that I can now look at certain people, events, and moments objectively, but I was impressed with the level of creativity Linda had put into this tiny production. Eleven months prior to when this was filmed Linda knew very basic English. Words like "far" and "close" escaped her. After watching this I had this realization that I had a hand in helping this young girl build up enough English vocabulary, structure, and wit. All within a year. It left me feeling rather accomplished. 


It was quite easy to feel as if I wasn't accomplishing a whole lot in the classroom due to weather, school, and/or common structure restrictions, but when I look back on this little gem I am reminded that I did serve a purpose. And Telemundo had a strange way of helping me along to this realization. It's like that Albert Einstein quote (because no entry would be complete without a sappy quote!):


    "It is the supreme art of the teacher to awaken joy in creative expression and knowledge."


Yes, I suppose that's true.