The Magic of Mastering French
How do you define mastery? In language you might be tempted to say fluency, but last night I experienced a more magical moment of mastery.
If like me you struggle with languages, the very first time you were actually understood by a stranger while traveling and trying to use your high school Spanish, French or German, it might have felt like complete mastery to you. The beauty of mastery, is that you get to define your own success, individually.
I started studying French in high school and have taken lessons on and off for years. Especially just before our wedding in France, the way couples take dance lessons just for their first dance. Making my speech in French at our wedding was another big step along the way, especially since I was meeting most of the French guests for the first time. I hate to admit that for the past few years just getting by and surviving the “French Only Spoken Here” house rule during week long visits at my in-laws is the level I reached and where I lazily plateaued.
Last summer while applying for the kids’ French passports at the Consulate in Amsterdam, my husband inquired about applying for me as well. We knew I met the requirements based on the length of our marriage and year of our son’s birth, but we also knew that because we lived outside of France, there would be a French language “requirement”. Merde, I was nervous! Infinitely easier to talk on subjects of my choice rather than answer questions, I took a proactive approach and started speaking very rapidly when we met with the official.
I explained that while my French wasn’t fluent, I did my best with my parents in law and always improved after a few days in France. I told him I would be very appreciative if he didn’t mind sticking to my favorite subjects of French wine, Champagne, fromage and handbags. The official broke into a big smile and confirmed that indeed my French might not be fluent, but it was absolutely charming and he declared that it would do. I was beaming with pride! Everyone knows the French value style over substance, so I felt that charming was a great compliment, definitely trumping mere fluency!
During the past school year I challenged myself to speak with my son’s teacher in French more often because I really appreciate her and she lights up when I make the effort. (I even admitted that I demanded to know from my son which class rule he had broken, when she sent a note home about it; turned out that he had broken his ruler and needed a replacement.)
This week I passed another milestone worth celebrating on my path to mastery. My husband deposited me and the kids at his parents in Brittany and left for the week. I survived, on my own, without the buffer/translator, and without any pillow talk in English after dark!
Upon my husband’s return last night, the magical moment happened. His mother asked me to recount a story I had told her the day before about a family I encountered on my bike ride along the canal. I told her how cute it was to see this Dad and small kids vacationing and traveling by bike. My reaction turned to horror when I passed the mother a few minutes later with ALL the rest of the kids; too many to count as each parent had babies in bike trailers too! As I retold the story, she laughed so hard she cried. This is a woman I have never seen cry and only occasionally laugh. It was a rare and spendid sight.
My French is far from fluent, I still try to rephrase everything to fit in my two favorite tenses; passé composé and future proche, and I know with certainty that sometimes what I say ends up sounding like, “They is hungry yesterday.” But the ability to express yourself, connect with someone, be truly understood, and move them to laugh or to cry, or both at the same time is the ultimate. This is the magic of mastering French.
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Ladies, Please step away from the schoolyard!
Moms, do you drop off and pick up your kids from school every day? Whether you are a proud Stay at Home Mom or a Working Mom that takes extreme measures to juggle your schedule for pick up duty, here’s my urgent plea for you to stop! It is not because of guilt that I make this request. My own son is picked up from school by our babysitter almost EVERY DAY, but I do not feel guilty.
Moms, I truly understand that you have the best intentions, but please stop corrupting my son. He is only six. There is still hope for him to grow up believing that both men and women have really important work to do in their professional lives; that being Mommies and Daddies is a really big and special part of life, but there are other interesting aspects too; that Mommies and Daddies share in the responsibilities and joys of parenting; that parents get to choose how they divide these joys and responsibilities; that there is no default woman’s work.
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You have just one day, do you dive in?
Short on time? Cash? Vacation days? All of the above? At various stages in our lives, different constraints drive our decision making, especially when it comes to travel and leisure.
Backpacking is the favorite cheap travel option for students while whirlwind tours are popular with Americans, who average only 2 weeks of vacation time off work each year versus the 5 week European average.
Personally, at this moment, alone time and alone-together time (kid free) are scarce! Our soon to be three year old daughter is a handful! We knew we could only get away with leaving the kids for one night with my parents- in- law while visiting them in France. Without asking first (too risky), we booked one night in a hotel on Belle Ile, an island just off the south coast of Brittany. My first recommendation; if you have only one day to get away, you can’t go wrong choosing a destination with a name like “Beautiful Island”.
When it’s just for one day, do you make choices differently too? One extreme or the other? On a recent overnight in Amsterdam at the trendy V Hotel, I knowingly booked the “sous-terrain” room because it was just for a night. Let’s call it like it is; a tiny basement room featuring a typical, small basement window with a view of the basement window of the adjacent building. It was fine, but just for one night…
On Belle Ile we went the other direction entirely. Selected the most luxurious hotel; and why not upgrade to a beautiful sea view room with a balcony, since it is just for one night? We left our car parked on the mainland and rented a very special and totally impractical buggy. It had no doors or windows or space for luggage, but how often do you get to rent a car that has a smiley face?
Thalasso treatments; why not book one in the evening and one in the morning, my husband shockingly suggested. You bet I earned those treatments after being dragged around the admittedly beautiful rocky coastline to see every jagged rock and cliff all in one afternoon. When we decided to go for a dip before dinner and discovered the indoor pool had just closed, we sneaked in anyway! It was, after all, our only chance to enjoy it. Fine dining on the freshest local products at the hotel’s restaurant? Bon appetit!
I am not a morning person, but I found myself wanting to get up early, set the alarm even, to have extra time to relax, huh? The time constraint did put some pressure on us, but we packed so much into our 29 hours on Belle Ile that is seemed as if we had been away much longer and we felt refreshed, exhausted and inspired all at the same time.
In the morning came the moment of truth (besides the bill). After one Abhyanga massage “for her” and one hike “for him”, we walked out to the terrace in our robes. We had seen one crazy woman swimming in the outdoor pool when we arrived the day before. Soon it would be time for us to check out and go explore the other side of the island. The sun was shinning, but the temperature was barely 12 degrees, (53 F). Without much hesitation, we dropped our robes and dove right in! It was divine and we laughed at the poor saps we could see inside on treadmills as we splashed and swam in the sunshine.
You have this day, just one day. Do you take the plunge?
Day 6 in Brittany
Is this a vacation? Depends on your definition. Many of our trips are family visits, so we try to combine the two as best we can. We returned from Belle-Ile-en-Mer last night and awoke to darker skies this morning.
Today is the designated jailbreak day for Mam Goz and Tad Coz from the nursing home. They are allowed a bittersweet visit to their home, 200 meters from here, for the third time since being pried from it nearly a year ago.
Le quatre heure (four o’clock). We share coffee and croissants before they have to go back. I do my best to distract the kids while Tad Coz trembles and chokes; Parkinson’s.
As my Mother in law speaks with her parents in the obscure and fading Breton language, for a moment the pressure is off to follow the conversation. Then talk drifts back to French and, as it always does in a small village, to the neighbors. Mam Goz and Tad Coz know all the families in the neighboring villages and how they are interconnected, going back a century. They are amazed when we admit to not knowing many of our neighbors.
Hard working farmers, I ask if they have ever left Brittany, and discover that Tad Coz served his military duty near Paris and together they have made a total of two other journeys about three hours away, in their lifetime.
By day six in France, I push myself beyond small talk. My French flows a bit easier and I stop caring as much that my grammar has already been surpassed by my 6 year old son.
Dinner conversation turns somehow from family and my cousin’s upcoming graduation to politics and war. My father in law speaks of his brother Michel who was sent to fight in the Algerian War and came back a paraplegic at age twenty one. They were very close and sadly he died a few years ago. Uncle Michel was quite a conversationalist and it was at his home in Quiberon that we set a record (for us, not for him, I’m sure) for the longest lunch ever, a record-breaking five hours.
My own Uncle Ron was sent to Vietnam and came back broken at approximately the same age. My husband tells his parents about my Uncle Ron’s interest in foreign affairs and how much they enjoyed discussing current affairs during our visits to the U.S. Uncle Ron disappeared a few years ago, following some years of homelessness and intermittent contact. I start to wonder how I could find my Uncle Ron using social media and then what if I did? I excuse myself from the table, pretend to check on the kids and go to dry my eyes. Have you seen my Uncle Ron?
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