There is an interesting quote I read somewhere -- and I only wish I could remember where -- by somebody, like me, who was raising their children bilingually in a foreign country. The author said, and I paraphrase, "I wanted to give my children the gift of bilingualism. But instead, I've brought upon them the shame of the immigrant's child." Though my French is excellent, they are at the point where they can hear my accent, and they cringe in embarassment when I say the words "huit" (meaning "eight") or "tout" ("all") or a host of other words with the "oo" or "u", which are two different sounds in French. My saying a word like "bousculer" ("bumping into"), which has both of these right next to each other, is enough to make them wish the ground would swallow them up.
Mind you, the actual French people don't mind, and have repeatedly complimented my "charming" accent, but my children are mortified. Now this is partly of course because they are my children and are therefore contractually obligated to be embarrassed by me in general. The following are the kinds of horrible things I do: say "merci beacoup" to the guy who stamps our passports as we come into the country; offer to take photos of families together; give directions and answer questions to confused tourists -- sometimes proactively, without having been asked for help. And let's not even bring up the recent political protest scenario. I'm a nightmare.
Interestingly, because Anthony's French is so much worse than theirs and mine (sorry, hubby...), the girls find his grammatically-challenged attempts and extreme accent perfectly acceptable. Even cute. Or maybe it's just because he's the dad, and I'm the mom.
How I see my girls: And how my girls see me:
photos from: http://glam.co.uk/2011/03/fashions-next-stop-the-residence-mauritius/ and https://sites.google.com/site/mswesselswebsite/introduction
Mind you, the actual French people don't mind, and have repeatedly complimented my "charming" accent, but my children are mortified. Now this is partly of course because they are my children and are therefore contractually obligated to be embarrassed by me in general. The following are the kinds of horrible things I do: say "merci beacoup" to the guy who stamps our passports as we come into the country; offer to take photos of families together; give directions and answer questions to confused tourists -- sometimes proactively, without having been asked for help. And let's not even bring up the recent political protest scenario. I'm a nightmare.
Interestingly, because Anthony's French is so much worse than theirs and mine (sorry, hubby...), the girls find his grammatically-challenged attempts and extreme accent perfectly acceptable. Even cute. Or maybe it's just because he's the dad, and I'm the mom.
How I see my girls: And how my girls see me:
photos from: http://glam.co.uk/2011/03/fashions-next-stop-the-residence-mauritius/ and https://sites.google.com/site/mswesselswebsite/introduction
I would like to point out, on the other hand, that the girls are taking guitar lessons, and the first song Gigi has written is about California, and contains what may be the all-time least cool lyrics: "It's a great place to be, with a beach ball and your mom." I'm just relishing this, because I know it's only the blink of an eye till I am, literally, the last person on Earth she'd want to be seen with on a beach. Especially speaking French.
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