My French Specialty

We had to take a "foreign language" in high school. This meant like 2 years of language course but, because the language-learning in U.S. schools for the most part like, just rolls off you like water off a duck's back, the language you are studying remains "foreign" forever. Maybe it's because you never speak the language outside of class. I chose French despite my Dad's insistence that Spanish was a better choice. Like all of Dad's suggestions, I rejected this out of hand at the time, but about 10 years later realized that he had a good point--my chances of ever using Spanish were much greater than my chances of ever using French. Spanish is often a requirement in job ads--in the NYC area, French never seems to be.

Also in college, 4 semesters of French. Upon arrival at college, despite the 2 years of French in high school, which I passed, I placed via entrance exam into the absolute beginner French class and learned again to say, "je m'apelle YSA."

After this stunning success at language learning, upon finishing my French requirement in college I set out to also learn German, a glorious adventure that dear reader may remember from former happy and foreign times.

Once I got out of that college requirement, I never expected to use French, or to have to say "je m'apelle YSA" ever again. Then I began to vacation in Quebec.

(This is all by way of explaining what the guide at Le Domaine said when we turned in the canoe.)

At first, the whole Quebec--Canada--bilingualism thing seemed, well, funny--like big high school French class, where I could memorize one silly sentence and crack up CC. Like when I told her that I was learning one sentence in all the world's languages (instead of learning all of one or two of the world's languages, this would be more efficient and international.) It is "Here comes a horse."

(My Mom has the same strategy for language learning. Her sentence is "That beautiful woman passing by is my cousin Jean.")

Then one day we saw a horse coming our way in Mt. Royal Park! I noted with grave dignity, "Un cheval es enroute."

But recently, the whole Quebec--Canada--Everyone-here-is-speaking-French-and-I-don'- know-what-they're-saying,-except-that-it's-about-the sun--thing doesn't make me laugh about horses and cabbages (Les Choux), it makes me want to take remedial French, like, tomorrow.

From the whole German experience, I developed the ability to control my facial expressions so that it seems like I very much understand conversations I'm supposedly having in German, even when I have no clue what the person is saying. (Because what's worse than having bad German is when people find out how bad your German is.) Now I use this when French comes on the scene.

But I know enough French to often understand what CC is saying, though it usually takes me about 10 seconds to dredge up the verbs covered in dust from the depths of my brain.

The result is frequently that me, CC and someone else are all having a conversation in French. (Well, CC and the person are talking in French, and I am standing there seeming that I understand everything they are saying and in fact, am not panicking.) CC says something to the person. I get the basic topic of what she says. Then, I get an idea for something to say myself, feel happy that maybe I am understanding the French after all, and say to the person in English the exact thing that CC has just said in French, realizing (because of the brain delay) as it comes out of my mouth and the person looks on politely, that CC has just made this exact point in French.

I have come to think of this as my French specialty.

Anyway, so we turned in the canoe and the guide asked how the trip was, and CC told her all about the beaver river, the rocks, dragging the canoe because there wasn't enough water, etc. Then I told her the exact same thing in English.

She just smiled and nodded. (Picture to meet a long-ago request by Tom--see, they really call it Poulet Frit Kentucky. French cheers to Fontaine comme Fontaine!)