< Mama's got a brand new... neck | Main | Update on Mom >
July 10, 2009
Oui, I speak rusty French
French is my second language, so to speak, having studied it for a little more than six years (almost a quarter of my life). I don't get to practice it very much. I know I'm not as fluent as I used to be (and I used to be able to speak with native French people pretty well), but somehow I still find myself thinking in French on occasion, mostly because of word roots or because some phrase in French sums up a thought better than I can in English.
Little did I know that one of my neighbors in the apartment complex I've lived in almost a year now is French...
Her name is Mimi, and I met her while walking my dog. She was feeding the stray cats that live in our complex. (There are three.) We got to talking about the cats, then my dog, and then she introduced herself. I wasn't going to ask about her accent, which I suspected was French or of French descent (maybe a French-colonized nation?). Instead, she openly volunteered the information: she grew up near Nice and moved here with her mari (husband).
And then that familiar feeling: it starts in my gut and moves like fizz inside my chest cavity as my brain punches around trying to decide if I should say that I know French or dare to compose a French phrase.
"Oh, wow," I say. "Well, I, uh, studied French in school. Je parle un peu de français."
That did it.
Mimi was thrilled. She praised my pronunciation. "You have a Parisian accent in your French!" she proclaimed. She said a few things and I responded after a brief pause. She clapped and smiled. And then she asked how long I studied and if I practiced. When I said six years and that, no, I didn't practice, she went on about being impressed that I came up with the words so quickly.
After we parted that evening, our initial meeting, she suggested I drop by a meeting of the Alliance Française in Pittsburgh. I know I don't need something else to fit in my schedule, but I really want to check it out. If it gives me the opportunity to polish my French before applying to a Ph.D. program (for which most likely I'll need to have working use of my second language), it would be worth making the time.
I was walking Trixie around the neighborhood yesterday when I came across Mimi, again feeding the stray cats. (She loves them.) She had a little boy with her, who immediately reached out to pet Trixie. It startled me because usually children ask if a dog is nice or if they can pet the dog, but he didn't. He went at Trixie with his hand directed over the crown of her head, which no dog likes (it's a power and control signal).
I asked if he wanted to pet my dog. "Parlez français?" he muttered.
Then it occurred to me: Oh my gosh, maybe he doesn't speak English at all.
Mimi caught up to the boy. "This is my nephew. Il ne parle pas anglais." (He doesn't speak English.)
With my suspicions confirmed, my brain kicked into French-gear. How could I address him? Trixie still was darting away from him as he tried to place his hand on top of her head.
I asked Mimi how to say "pet," and she responded (unarguably correctly) that the word in French means "animal of affection." Really what I wanted to know was the verb for "pet," not the noun, but whatever. I hadn't specified, so I wasn't going to hold that against her--Trixie is my pet, and I pet her... Isn't English weird?
Ignoring that, I thought of the next best word: touch.
I prepared my best French.
"Voulez-vous toucher mon chien?" (Would you like to touch my dog?)
The little boy was rapt, staring at me addressing him in his native tongue. "Oui. C'est une fille?" (Yes. It's a girl?)
"Oui. Elle s'appelle Trixie. Elle a deux ans." (Yes. Her name is Trixie. She's two.)
I pull Trixie's leash closer. "Trixie: sit." She does.
"Si vous voulez toucher un chien, aller comme ça." (If you want to touch a dog, go like this.) I put my hand out for Trixie to sniff, and then pet underneath of her head. The boy followed my actions carefully and pet Trixie. She let him pet her and he smiled.
"Merci. Elle est belle." (Thank you. She is pretty.)
Mimi watched the whole thing and I thought she was going to cry. Once he lost interest in my dog and went to feed the cats again, she praised my French. I know I'm out of practice, but I was proud of myself too.
Posted by KarissaKilgore at July 10, 2009 9:18 PM