We leave for France tomorrow. Usually right about now, as I’m throwing clothes into a suitcase and dreaming about baguettes, I’ll feel guilty and sheepish to be visiting my husband’s family and country with no better grasp of the French language than previous trips. But this time is different.
Last month I had an epiphany: That I really, really want to speak French. This realization was akin to the one that I had when I quit smoking, because it had to be something that I decided I wanted to do. For 3 years, I felt that I should learn French. There was social pressure to learn. Everyone was always asking me, “So, do you speak French yet?” And I went through the motions, with the adult education classes, the language CDs, the French movies and cultural activities. Yeah, that Bastille Day street party… totally helping my French language skills.
But one cannot learn a foreign language from occasional exposure and half-assed commitment. It requires immersion. And though I can badger Mr. P to speak only in French to me, he will understandably refuse when I can neither understand him or respond in a timely, coherent, or pleasant manner.
So I am finding other ways to immerse myself in French.
First, I bought a set of CDs called SmartFrench. “Learn French from native speakers,” the tagline on the package says, which I showed to Mr. P. “Look, I bought CDs so I can learn French from native speakers,” I said wryly. The goal of SmartFrench is to increase listening comphrehension. It essentially plays the same excerpt from an interview six times, instructing the listener to listen, or repeat, or follow along in the booklet, or take note of particular phrases. SmartFrench is teaching me very little vocabulary, but it’s tuning my ears to pick up words in French conversation.
Second, I started downloading French language podcasts onto my Shuffle. No more music for me: It’s always Louis with my daily French Pod, or the French Coffee Break, or the French Word of the Day. The podcasts are improving my vocabulary. Like, for the past week I’ve been listening a podcast about the people in Amsterdam who hid Anne Frank’s family. “Je cache et aide les jeunes filles juives.” I announced this morning to a startled Mr. Pinault. (Translation: I hide and help young Jewish girls.)
Third, I’m back on the flashcards. But instead of writing “Shoes” on one side and “les chaussures” on the other, I’m writing entire sentences, dialogues, and famous quotes, like “Dans toutes les larmes s’attarde un espoir” (In all the tears lingers a hope, Simone de Beauvoir) and “Le jour est paresseux mais la nuit est active” (The day is lazy, but the night is active, Alphonse Daudet).
And finally, I figured out that if I want Mr. P to speak French to me, I have to speak French to him. He usually answers me in English, but at least he’ll correct my pronunication and grammar. Surely as I improve, the idea of me speaking French will seem less foreign to him, and to me as well.
