Recently my Acquired Daughter accompanied me to my morning writing class. She'd just finished her last exam and was feeling giddy with relief.
Although my students aren't finished with their final exams, that didn't matter: they were in a party mood. The minute they saw I had someone young and interesting with me, a couple of the ones who usually skip out as soon as I come in, slunk back to their seats. When I introduced Acquired Daughter, they looked puzzled. "Your daughter?" We don't look in the least bit alike.
"Well, yes."
Before I had the time to write prompts on the board, they were asking questions: they even interrupted each other in their eagerness, asking her about her life, her interests, her likes and dislikes -- and her family members. This was tricky: back in Scotland, Acquired Daughter has siblings that have nothing to do with me; all of a sudden I acquired sons. A boy in the front row was particularly impressed with how many children I had, and I gave up trying to tell him that I've only given birth to two.
Still, the visit was a huge success: a few of my students probably spoke more English in the first 30 minutes of this class than they have in the entire course. Suddenly English was real communication, not just a falsely perky teacher tormenting them with present perfect and reported speech.
Then came this question: What kind of music do you like?
Acquired Daughter gave them a broad smile -- and magic words. "I like Turkish music. Like Düm Tek Tek."
Düm Tek Tek was this year's Turkish Eurovision Contest entry. It was beaten by Azerbaijan, but it came in ahead of Great Britain. It's a big hit among my students and my own progeny have been playing it non-stop too.
Everyone cheered. I'm so sick of Düm Tek Tek I could scream, but they were obviously thrilled that my daughter had even heard of it.
"What else do you like?" someone asked.
"Asian music," answered Acquired Daughter promptly. "Like Dong Bang Shin Ki."
"Who is that?" a girl in the front row asked.
"They're from Korea." Picking up her mobile, Acquired Daughter punched a few buttons and the classroom was filled with the delightful sounds of Dong Bang Shin Ki's Mirotic.
There was a general buzz of approval. "I like that! What is name?"
Within 30 seconds, five kids had Dong Bang Shin Ki's Mirotic on their mobile phones.
Today, I heard Mirotic blasting from someone's mobile phone as I was walking down the corridor. I looked to see if I recognized who was playing it, but I didn't. Acquired Daughter has done her bit to turn Turkish students on to Dong Bang Shin Ki.
Somewhere in Tokyo where my oldest daughter is working as an au pair, a little Japanese boy may well be lisping Düm Tek Tek.
