CA-MA-RONES," ANTHONY SAID, WITH A trill of the tongue over the third syllable. Between his bald head, his steroid-swollen jowls, and his tiny gold pinkie ring-"bling from my Papi," as he called it-the 4-year-old looked like Tony Soprano's long-lost son. My lack of ability to speak Spanish irked Anthony, especially after he tried to tell me about his favorite food, shrimp, using the Spanish word. I responded that I liked macaroni, too, and then Anthony proceeded to school me about the word "camarones." "Cam-a-roni," I said. "No," he said, and his bling waved furiously through the air as he talked with his hands. "Ca-ma-ro-nes." "Ca-ma-ro-nes," I repeated, and he held an A-OK sign in the air. As he tried to impart a bit of Spanish on his incorrigible student, I saw a glimmer of old-man wisdom in his spunky eyes.
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