When I arrived in France I was thirty years old and did not speak more than three words of French.
Some of you have asked me what was that like and how long did it take me to learn to speak French.
1) It was hard.
Language isn't one of my natural gifts. I also do not like to study.
It took me a very
l………….o…………………..n…………………..g
time to learn French.
I am still learning.
I have a very thick accent that doesn't bother me in the least because I do not hear it.
Twenty years ago at a dinner party, a man asked me if I could read in French.
I answered that I could read basic French but not classic novels. I also admitted I could not write in French.
In which he replied (in French) "Aren't you ashamed of yourself? After all these years you haven't learned?"
I replied, "I am stupid." I thought I might as well tell him what he thought and avoid any more of his insults.
It worked.
The conversation about my French language skills ended, though the dinner conversation continued on lighter topics.
When French people ask me how long I have lived in France
I know in a small way they are judging my French. If I say, "Ten years," they often reply in one or two ways:
1) You speak well, you have a charming accent.
or
2. You speak like this after twenty years?
After a while, this sort of response started bugging me.
I thought I would change my answer so that we would all feel good.
Therefore when a French person asks me how long had I lived in France I say, "Not too long."
They respond by saying;
1) Incredible! Your French is very very good and I adore your accent.
They smile and I smile
everyone is happy.
Yes, I am bending the truth. But that is a fault I can live with.
Unless God marks all that stuff down in which case I am busted.
I probably am busted for so many other things it won't matter anyway.
and personally, I don't believe God does that, and if God does do that then I
don't believe in God. Did I just go from talking about my French skills to
confessing? That is a fuller conversation and one I enjoy in French and in English.
I speak French.
I dream in French.
I can follow a conversation in French.
I started to speak French when I found out that I had cancer (nearly thirty years ago.)
amazing what a little fear can do to one's language skills.
I can buy antiques in French.
I can also kiss in French,
make crepes, and I feel I have come a long way since the day I couldn't say more than oui and non.
I cannot pray in French.
Swearing in French does do it for me. But I know the swear words
I cannot tell a joke in either language.
Now that Gabriel is in my life I have another brilliant reason to speak English.
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