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AGE FACTOR IN HUMAN INTERACTION
Pre – reading Activities
1. Do you agree that age has a certain influence on our communicative behavior?
2. Can you give some recent examples of your own communicative successes or failures in talking to people from another age group?
3. Which strategies have you used in such communication?
4. Do you easily find common language with people younger or older than you? What does it depend upon?
5. What do you know about child language research?
6. What do you think about the role of age factor in translation process?
Speech Patterns
| Did his behavior give you any signs that this was coming? - Not really. |
Were you surprised that they got married?
- Not really. I knew they were in love.
Does he desperately want to go to Brasilia?
- Not really. He just wants to change the environment.
Did you expect her to get a PhD from Oxford?
- Not really. I didn’t think her to be that bright.
| Well, no wonder my poor boy’s ill. Whose filthy clothes are these all over the place? |
No wonder he failed at the exam. He had spent all his time in the pub,
not in the library.
She should have followed the expert’s advice. No wonder she has lost nearly all her money.
Well, no wonder it took them more than an hour to get there. The
traffic jams are quite common nowadays.
| Would you like to sit down? You must be very tired. |
Would you like a cup of tea? She’ll come in ten minutes.
Would you like to leave him a message? He’s out of office at the moment.
Would you like her to call you back later? She’s at the meeting now.
| Why did you disturb him? – Believe me, Mrs. Davidson. I never bothered him. |
What have you done to my computer? – Believe me, Helen. I have never ever
touched it.
Why were you so aggressive towards him? – Believe me, darling.
I just wanted to defend you.
All this is going to cause a lot of trouble, believe me.
| What’s wrong with that? I’ve brought him up that way. |
What’s wrong with g oing there by car? We’ll be free to stop
wherever we like on the way.
What’s wrong with staying at her house for a few days? She’ll
be on holiday. We won’t disturb anyone.
What’s wrong with that? I don’t like to get up early myself?
| Hey, look. Why don’t you rest here. I can boil some coffee. |
Hey, look. Why don’t we discuss it in the morning?
I feel exhausted right now.
Hey, look. Let’s meet tomorrow at 6 o’clock and finalize our plans.
Hey, look. It’s unfair to accuse me of cheating.
I. Study the speech patterns and translate the examples into Ukrainian.
II. Come up with three sentences of your own with each speech pattern.
.
III. Fill in the gaps with suitable speech patterns.
1. Why have you told him about our plans? - … He’s my best friend.
(What’s wrong with that?)
2. They shouldn’t have treated her like that. … she decided to cross them out of her will. (No wonder)
3. …. Why don’t call him and apologize for not coming to his wedding? (Hey, look)
4. Did you expect her to write such a wonderful play? - …. I thought
She’d continue writing books for children. (Not really)
5. Why were you so talkative? - …, darling. I just wanted to be friendly with your relatives. (Believe me)
6. … a glass of water or juice? You must be thirsty after the walk in such hot weather. (Would you like)
IV. React to the statements below by using the appropriate speech pattern.
1. - He’ll have to submit sooner or later. (Believe me …)
2. – I can’t talk to you right now. (Hey, look …)
3. – It’s so stuffy here. I feel dizzy. (Would you like …)
4. – Were you surprised when she emigrated to Canada? (Not really)
5. – She didn’t have enough practice. (No wonder …)
6. - I shouldn’t have spent so much money on clothes, if I were you. (What’s wrong with that …)
V. Translate the sentences below from Ukrainian into English using speech patterns.
1. Ти встав сьогодні так рано. Не хочеш трохи поспати після обіду?(Would you like) 2. Послухай, а чому б нам не поїхати влітку на Мальдіви? (Hey, look) 3. Чому ти дозволяєш йому стільки часу проводити з друзями? – А що в цьому поганого? Я їх знаю з дитинства.(What’s wrong with that?) 4. Немає нічого дивного в тому, що вона не змогла забронювати квиток на цей рейс. Зараз пік сезону відпусток.(No wonder) 5. Це йому так не минеться, повір мені. Тут задіяні дуже серйозні люди.(believe me) 6. Він дійсно хоче вступати до юридичної академії? – Ні, не дуже. Але його батьки мріють, щоб він став юристом. (Not really)
From THE CLASS
by Erich Segal
Erich Wolf Segal (June 16, 1937 – January 17, 2010) was an American author, screenwriter, and educator. He was best-known for writing the novel Love Story (1970), a best-seller, and writing the motion picture of the same name, which was a major hit. Segal attended Midwood High School in Brooklyn and traveled to Switzerland to take summer courses. He attended Harvard College, graduating as both the class poet and Latin salutatorian in 1958, after which he obtained his master's degree (in 1959) and a doctorate (in 1965) in comparative literature, from Harvard University.
Segal was a professor of Greek and Latin literature at Harvard University, Yale University and Princeton University. He had been a Supernumerary Fellow and subsequently an Honorary Fellow of Wolfson College, Oxford.
Although it was only the first week of November, the air at six o’clock was glacial and as dark as any winter evening. As Jason was dressing after squash practice, he discovered to his annoyance, that he’d forgotten to bring a tie. He’d now have to return to Straus to get one. Otherwise, that Irish Cerberus who stood checking necks at the Union doorway would gleefully bounce him. Damn. Damn.
He trudged back across the chilly, leafless Yard, climbed the stairs to A-32, and fumbled for his key.
The moment that he pushed the door ajar, Jason noticed something odd. The place was dark. He glanced at D.D.’s room. No light from there either. Maybe he was sick. Jason rapped softly and inquired, "Davidson, are you okay?"
There was no reply.
Then, breaking the ironclad house rules, Jason opened the door. First he noticed the ceiling, where the electric wires had been torn out. Then he glanced quickly at the floor. Where he saw his roommate in a heap, motionless—a belt around his neck.
Jason was vertiginous with fear.
Oh God, he thought, the bastard's killed himself. He knelt and turned D.D. over. This gesture elicited the faintest semblance of a groan. Quick, Jason, he urged himself, fighting to keep his wits, call the cops. No. They might not come in time.
He swiftly removed the leather belt from his roommate’s lacerated throat. He then heaved him up onto his shoulders like a fireman, and rushed as quickly as he could to Harvard Square, where he commandeered a taxi, ordering the driver to tear-ass to the infirmary.
"He'll be all right," the on-duty physician assured Jason. "I don't think Harvard sockets are wired well enough for suicide. Although, God knows, there are some kids who actually succeed in their ingenious ways. Why do you think he did it?"
"I don't know," said Jason, still somewhat deadened from the shock.
"The young man had a bit too much invested in his grades,” Dennis Linden pronounced. He had arrived on the scene in
time to offer a professional analysis of the young freshman's desperate action.
"Did his behavior give you any hints that this was coming?" asked the Health Service doctor.
Jason shot a glance at Linden, who continued to pontificate, "Not really. You can never figure out which egg is going to crack. I mean, the freshman year's so fraught with pressure.'
As the two doctors continued chatting, Jason fixed his gaze on his shoes.
Ten minutes later, Jason and the proctor walked together out of the infirmary. It was only then that he realized that he had no coat. Or gloves. Or anything. Panic had inured him to the cold. Now he was shivering.
"You need a lift, Jason?" Linden asked.
"No, thanks," he answered sullenly.
"Come on, Gilbert, you'll freeze to death walking back like that."
"Okay," he relented.
During the short ride up Mount Auburn Street, the proctor tried to justify himself.
"Look," he rationalized, "this is what Harvard's all about— it's sink or swim."
"Yeah," Jason mumbled half-aloud, "but you're supposed to be the lifeguard."
At the next red light he climbed out of Linden's car and slammed the door.
His anger again made him oblivious to the bitter cold.
He walked on toward the Square. At Elsie's he consumed two Roast-Beef Specials to replace the dinner he had missed, then went over to Cronin's, cruising by the wooden booths to find a friendly face so he could sit down and get drunk.
Jason was awakened rudely the next morning by a rapping on the door that made his headache even worse. It was only when he started groggily toward it that he noticed he was still in last night's clothing. Anyway, his soul felt wrinkled. So
they matched.
He opened the door.
A stocky, middle-aged woman, wearing a green floppy hat, was planted solidly outside.
"What did you do to him?" she demanded.
"Oh," Jason said quietly, "you must be David's mother."
"A real genius you are," she muttered. "I'm here to get his clothes."
"Please," Jason said, immediately ushering her in.
"It's freezing on that landing, if you didn't notice," she remarked while entering the suite and glancing hawk-eyed into every corner.
"Foo, it's a real pigsty. Who cleans up this place?"
"A student porter vacuums once a week and swabs the
John," said Jason.
"Well, no wonder my poor boy's ill. Whose filthy clothes are these all over everywhere? They carry germs, you know."!
"They're David's," Jason answered softly.
"So how come you threw my David's clothes all over everywhere? Is that your rich boy's idea of a little fun?"
"Mrs. Davidson," Jason said patiently, "he dropped them there himself." After which he quickly added, "Would you |like to sit down? You must be very tired."
"Tired? I'm exhausted. Do you know what that night train
is like—especially for a woman my age? Anyway, I'll stand while you explain why it's not your fault."
Jason sighed. "Look, Mrs. Davidson, I don't know what they've told you down at the infirmary."
"They said that he was very sick and has to be transferred to some god-awful... hospital," she paused, and then she gasped, "a mental hospital."
"I'm really sorry," Jason answered gently, "but the pressure here can be ferocious. To get grades, I mean."
"My David always got good grades. He studied day and night. Now suddenly he leaves my house and comes to live with you and he collapses like he had no yeast. Why did you disturb him?"
"Believe me, Mrs. Davidson," Jason insisted, "I never bothered him. He—" Jason worked up the courage to complete his sentence "—sort of brought it on himself."
Mrs. Davidson slowly absorbed this allegation.
"How?" she asked.
"For reasons that I simply cannot fathom, he just felt he had to be the best. I mean, the very best."
"What's wrong with that? I brought him up that way."
Jason felt a surge of retrospective pity for his erstwhile roommate. Obviously his mother rode him like a racehorse in a never-ending homestretch. He wouldn't have to be Humpty Dumpty to crack under that kind of strain.
Then suddenly, without warning, she flopped onto their couch and began to sob.
"What did I do? Didn't I sacrifice my life for him? This isn't fair."
Jason touched her tentatively on the shoulder. "Look, Mrs. Davidson, if David's going to a hospital he'll need his clothes. Why don't I help you pack?"
She gazed up at him with a look of helplessness. "Thank you, young man. I'm sorry that I yelled, but I'm a bit upset, and I've been on the train all night."
She opened her purse, took out a handkerchief already moist, and dabbed her eyes.
"Hey, look," Jason said softly. "Why don't you rest here? I can boil some coffee. Meanwhile, I'll pack his stuff, go get my car, and drive you to... wherever David is."
"A place called Massachusetts Mental Health, in Waltham," she replied, choking on nearly every syllable.
In the bedroom, Jason grabbed a suitcase and tossed in garments he thought would be appropriate. Instinct told him that the hospital would not require ties and jackets.
"What about his books?" his mother called out.
"I don't think he'll need his school stuff right away, but I'll hold on to it and bring him what he wants."
"You're very kind," she said again. And blew her nose.
One suitcase packed, Jason cast a quick eye around the room to see if he'd missed anything essential. At that moment he caught sight of something lying on top of the desk. Even as he reached out, he had ominous forebodings of what it would be.
Yes, he was right. It was the bluebook from D.D.'s Chem. 20 midterm. And his roommate's nightmare had turned out to be prophecy. He had received a mere B-minus. As casually as possible, he folded the exam and stuffed it in his back pocket.
"Wait here, Mrs. Davidson. My car's a few blocks away. I'll run and get it."
"I must be keeping you from your classes," she said meekly.
"That's okay," he answered. "I'm just happy I can do something for David. I mean—he's a real nice guy."
Mrs. Davidson looked into Jason Gilbert's eyes and murmured, "You know, your parents should be extremely proud."
"Thank you," Jason Gilbert whispered. And ran off, a dull ache in his heart.
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