French Battles

 

Last night we watched a program about Roman museums in French. I felt smug understanding it all. Yesterday, I had a conversation with one of my neighbors in French. I read a French message on FB.

As my mother would have said, "Who'd have thunk it."

My first experiences in French were not happy ones. 

At university I needed four semesters to graduate. The first three were a waste of time. The teacher, I can't call him a prof, covered about 10 pages, but we learned enough about his life to write a biography.

I was married with a man who barely tolerated my going to university and only if all my wifely duties were WELL performed. This was pre-Betty Friedan. I worked 20-30 hours in a dry cleaners and still made Dean's List grades in subjects I loved and I wasn't about to fight not having to study one more minute for the French course.

However, by fourth semester I couldn't take it any more and signed up for an advanced French Modern Drama.

The professor was a woman who lived in Boston and breezed in wearing a full mink coat on any cold day. I knew nothing about Boston at the time, but when I lived there I suspected she lived on Beacon Hill or in another snooty neighborhood.

The class was entirely in French. Oooooppppssss

Fortunately, my best friend was bilingual in French and English. She took the class too. Using her notes and a dictionary I was able to do word for word translations.

I learned about Beckett, Ionesco and more. I loved the content.

All went well until I had to write my first test. She wrote on mine "Me voir."

"WHAT are you doing in this class," she asked in English when I stood before her desk.

I couldn't tell her the truth. She was friends with my first idiot teacher. "I really wanted to know more about modern French drama."

She sat back. "Would you retake the test in English?" I did. She gave me an A-.

For the rest of the course, I was able to write everything in English. She graded me on content not French. I can't remember if I ended up with an A- or a B+ plus an appreciation of French Drama perhaps with the exception of the play "Waiting for Godot" which I've seen several times hoping against hope, Godot would finally show up.

Today it would have been so much easier with translation aps and programs. I wish I could find her and tell her I live in two francophone countries, and I've mastered the language to a functional level. 

Note: Tomorrow I'll publish the second chapter of my novel Lexington: Anatomy of a Novel.