Andrew (Weeks) has commented on the miracle of walking since he arrived in Paris. I can sympathize and I want to argue in favor of a second miracle that we also take for granted: language.
I’m not a great language student as all my long-suffering German teachers can confess. I lacked the discipline required to seriously study German. Der, die, das, die, den, die, das, die, dem, den, der, den, des, der, des, der. Still, I went after the language for six years as though I was General Haig. Constantly battering at the German trenches, hoping that this breakthrough would lead to the final victory. Fortunately, there were no human casualties from all my Passchendaele. Only my GPA bears the scars of my long war with the German language.
When I fell in love with French I went in blind. I was aware, like all anglophones, of the difficulties of pronunciation imposed by francophones to protect the ‘purity’ of the language. My first French teacher was a graduate student from Ecuador at ISU. She was familiar with the language but would have clearly preferred to teach Spanish. She taught us basic French very well and our lessons were well structured. Early on, after one class where she introduced us to the basics of class 1 verb conjunction, I stopped her to ask about reflexive verbs. They were a familiar enemy from my time in the trenches and so I wanted to prepare my own Maginot line for when the time would come.
“French doesn’t have verbs like that.” You should have seen the smile on my face.
As my lessons went on I found that my experience in the first war had prepared me for the second. I was easily one of the best students in that class and in my level the following semester in Angers. I’m not perfect, but four years on I am proud of my progress. I still bear the scares of my uneven lessons because most of the advanced French concepts were taught to me piecemeal in Angers by well-meaning francophones, rather than systematically in a classroom. Because of that uneven development, I still cannot write well in French. But I can speak it!
There are days where I understand more and others when I understand less. Like a weightlifter, I have to take advantage of the days when I’m strongest and improve myself so that even on my weakest days I am coherent; even if I can’t quite lose the German accent I supposedly have.
I am incredibly thankful that I can speak French as well as I do. Today, my French is rather good. Throughout my years of German, I always thought that I was destined to be a mediocre language student and that I would always move uncomfortably throughout the Germanophone world. But in Luxembourg, in Paris, in Angers, and throughout francophone world, I have found an immense joy. The feeling of thoughtlessly moving through French as though it was my own is that of immense satisfaction. I can read French books and I can have French conversations. It feels, above all else, good.
In January I tweeted how thankful I was to Tony Crubaugh for making me the Francophile that I am. I still am thankful. I cannot express the joy I feel moving through Paris as though I belong here. The same is true in Angers and the same is true in Luxembourg.
Signed,
Andrew (Pfannkuche)
Normal Thoughts 