In Quebec they will pay you a $600 incentive to learn French. That’s a free course plus a subsidiary bonus. Here in Ontario, they will give you a free course in French, but without the subsidy. Because it’s not Quebec. And it’s not Manitoba, where they will likely pay you to not learn French. (There’s a whole rivalry thing going on up here regarding French-speakers and non-French speakers, and it’s not pretty.)
I had two semesters of foreign language in junior high (before they started calling it “middle school” it was called Junior High, and I can’t believe I have to explain this). It consisted of four quarters of four languages - Latin, French, German, and Spanish. I remember that I was given the German name Anja. I wasn’t given a French, Spanish, or Latin name. I have retained the ability to count to ten in all of them but Latin. (Sorry, D). When I was told it would take “approximately two hours” for the French assessment at my scheduled Thursday appointment this week, I told the woman on the phone “All I can do is count to ten. It will be a two-minute assessment.” I guess they figure I am a “from-Canada-Canadian” and therefore have at least a grade school French capability like my parents did. Nope. I’m a “not-from-Canada-Canadian.” I can count to ten, say yes, no, Mr. and Miss. That’s it; I promise.
There is a French word I’ve picked up recently - it’s the name of a perfume sample from Michelle Pfeiffer’s line of non-toxic fragrances, Henry Rose. Up until yesterday I thought the scent was called Menage. You know - the French word for “household.” (Yes, I Googled it, and yes, I initially thought it meant what you thought it meant.) But I just took a closer look at the small vial - this time with my glasses on - and it’s called Menace. Not Menage. Which is a really good metaphor for how my week is going with this French-thing.
The assessment was a farce. The French assessor-lady was bewildered by my lack of French aptitude for the reasons I predicted - she assumed I was a “from-Canada-Canadian” who must have wandered off to the States or Europe or Zimbabwe for most of my adulthood, recently found my way back, and then decided to pick it back up because I thought I might end up living in Montreal. In fact, I was so put off by her disappointment in me that I’ve decided to skip the French lesson opportunity altogether (while simultaneously and loyally remaining on my Canadian family’s team of “no French - backoff, bitch”) and study Gaelic instead.
John Morrison, the grocer on the Isle of Harris in the town of Tarbert, Scotland, will be thrilled.
If I should become a stranger,
you know that it would make me more than sad
Caledonia’s been everything I’ve ever had
-Dougie MacLean
Blessings & Love, (M’annsachd agus gradh)
Live in Omaha September 27th & 28th:
Oh those Manitobans.