[ WP ] Your grandparents always playfully bickered in their native language . To surprised them , you took lessons , but now you understand what they 're really saying ...

I was happy, when registering for my first semester of college, to see my school offered intro to Russian. My grandparents came to America during World War II but would still talk Russian to each other, even after all this time. They focused on assimilation, especially during the cold war, so very little of the language was passed down to my dad, and none to me. 
 
 After four months of study I could have a very basic conversation with my grandparents in their native language. I thought that would be a great Christmas present for them. December 24th rolls around and like every Christmas Eve of my life they show up for our family dinner. Looking over some of my flashcards I hear my grandparents in the hallway talking in Russian. Just before I come out to greet them I catch a word that sounds familiar. It ’ s repeated a few more times so I pick up my textbook and turn to the dictionary. Expecting to find the Russian word for Christmas, or turkey I find the word for kill. 
 
 Thinking I misheard them I go back to my door and listen very carefully to their conversation. I catch the words for son, grandson, daughter, tonight, airport, and after three repeats I was certain, kill. 
 
 The Russian turns back into English as my dad walks over to them. “ Mom, Jen was wondering if you could help her with the potatoes, and dad I printed out those papers you asked for. ” 
 
 “ Sure sweetie, tell Jen I ’ ll be happy to help. ” 
 
 Dad leaves and the sweet matronly tone is replaced with a cold Russian response I can roughly translate as, ‘ I kill her. You kill him. We kill boy. ’ 
 
 I dial 911 on my cell but before I can explain the crazy situation I ’ m in, my grandma opens my door. “ Hey sweet pea, want to come help your mom and me with dinner. It ’ s been so long since I ’ ve seen you. ” Not seeing a believable excuse to get away I say sure, put the phone in my pocket and hope the police can trace it for the location. 
 
 Once in the hall my sweet old grandma looks in my room and sees the open Russian textbook and piles of flashcards. With a smile she asks, “ So you ’ re studying Russian. Learn anything interesting? ” 

