Get Your Free Children’s Coloring Book—”The Boy Who Weaves the World”!
He hadn’t seen her in almost two years.
Somewhere between the ages of 4 and 9, he lost it. He lost his words. He lost his flow. He lost his language.
He lost the bridge—the bridge between him and his grandparents.
The bridge was a language. The bridge was French.
During our last trips to visit his grandparents in France, he often searched for his vocabulary. He could understand almost everything. However, he could no longer spit out the words. Somehow, French had been eaten up in the recesses of his brain.
Somehow . . . somewhere . . .
The words, the accent, the language had been engulfed by the wide and mighty Atlantic Ocean that separates his homeland, his birthplace—France—with the United States.
Immersed in the French language and culture from birth, Pierre was born in the gorgeous southwestern city of Toulouse. “La Ville Rose,” as it is called, “The Pink City.” His French language abilities clearly dominated his English skills.
He was born and raised in France. It was his home, his culture, his language, his life.
Until we abruptly transitioned to the United States in the middle of his kindergarten year.
Thrown into the American educational system, with a full-immersion in the English language, our family quickly made the decision to speak English in our home—instead of French. We had to help our sons catch up in English if they were going to succeed academically and socially that first year in the U.S.
English took priority. English took over. English took control.
Pierre’s fluency in the French was quickly drown out by the English language. There seemed to be no turning back, as we watched with horror at the great divide that was forming.
It began with a phone call, during which 5-year-old Pierre could only say, “oui, oui, oui” to his grandmother’s incessant questioning on the other side of the line. He could understand every word she said. Yet, his limited vocabulary kept him safely in the realm of only a few words—words like “bonjour,” “oui,” “non,” “papa,” “maman,” “Mémé,” “Pépé,” “crêpes,” and “gaufres.”
I wrote a story about this several years ago called, “I Can’t Talk to Mémé Anymore.”
Their recent conversations have been no different. Just recently, Mémé and Pépé came from France to stay with our family for three weeks.
“Tell Mémé this . . .” “Tell Pépé that . . . “ “I don’t know how to say that in French . . . “
In Spain, not only was I a translator between Arabic-speaking Moroccans and psychologists, doctors, and human rights lawyers. But, now I was also a translator between my son and his French grandparents.
In spite of these challenges, Pierre made an effort to express himself in French with his grandparents during their recent stay—even if only a few words here and there. Each time, Mémé and Pépé would tell me how happy they were that Pierre was speaking to them in French.
Pierre was proud of himself, and so was I.
“I’m very proud of you, the way you had courage to speak to Mémé and Pépé in French during their visit,” I told him over dinner. “I know it wasn’t easy for you.”
Pierre nodded his head.
“Maybe we could start speaking French to you again at home, and you can respond in English if you want.”
“No, I prefer English. Now that Mémé and Pépé are gone, can we only speak English?” he asked with longing in his voice.
“I understand, Pierre,” I replied. “However, you must never lose your native language and culture.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t forget that you and your brother, Robert, were born in France. French is the language of your homeland.
Pierre looked at me with pride.
“Did I ever tell you, though, that you can’t run for President of the United States of America? Only your two brothers, Timothee and David, can.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a bit complicated, because you and your three brothers all have dual nationality. You all have two passports—French and American. However, there are differences. You and Robert were born in France, and Timothee and David were born in America.”
“So . . . ?”
“So, you have to be born on American soil to be able to run for President of the United States of America. You and Robert can run for President of France, but not President of the United States of America.”
“That’s not fair! I want to be President of the United States!”
I guess if my son wants to run for President of France one day, he better start working on his French language fluency again!
It was a rude awakening for Pierre that day. The reality is that our children may have two nationalities, two languages, and two cultures, but that doesn’t mean that they can run for president in both of their countries!
Get Your Free Children’s Coloring Book—”The Boy Who Weaves the World”!
Children’s Picture Books:
The Boy Who Weaves the World (Paperback/Ebook)
The Boy of Many Colors (Paperback/Ebook)
Mommy, What’s a Safe House? (Paperback/Ebook)
