My daughter just began her sophomore year in high school. One of the perks of high school is learning a new language. No, I don't mean the teenage slang language; I mean a real language like French, Spanish, and German!
After the first week at school, I asked what she had learned in French class. Briefly pulling her eyes away from her book, she said, "Un, deux, trois." She smiled and buried her nose back between the pages.
I was right proud of my little French speaking Southern girl! She may never learn rocket science but, by golly, she can count to three!
Another week passed. By this time, we were getting out of bed fifteen minutes later and scurrying about the house. We were cramming lunches in backpacks and air kisses fly across the room on our way out the door.
I felt like enough time had passed that my little girl should speak French fluently. Therefore, I asked her to speak French.
"Jimmy Pale Madam Mozelle, Sylvie," she said proudly.
My head flew back and loud bursts of laughter spewed from my mouth.
"What? What? Why are you laughing?" She looked at me as if I had lost my mind.
I couldn't stop laughing. I knew my French ancestors were probably rolling around in their graves. You see, that's French with a Southern accent.
"What else can you say, Sweetie?" I laughed some more.
"Im not saying anything else," she huffed.
For days, I prompted her to speak French for me but she refused. I even suggested a trip to France sometime in the future. You know, just to try out her new grasp of the French language. She wasnt too thrilled with that idea either.
Oh well, I am sure there ain't no doubt that she'll be speakin' French, better than she speaks English, by the end of the school year.
Just in case you were wondering, je m'appelle Jeanni Brosius!
Copyright 2001 Jeanni Brosius. All Rights Reserved.
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