Samedi

A nod to the fact that next Saturday, I'll be in another French Immersion Class, and will, therefore, be fearing and shaking for most of the coming week. Because much as I want to speak the damn language, I do not want to somewhat speak the language. Nor do I care to be reminded how and when to use a versus á, or to work through the damned Passé Composé. (Which isn't actually all that hard, but people who teach French are seriously anal about it.)

Last night, they held this year's Color Guard Banquet. Its a generally fun event, except for the apparently mandatory Weeping of the Seniors as they each give a little speech --I love you guys!!!! -- one girl was up there for about ten minutes, and about six of them were entirely or partially crying, or the the definitely mandatory Speech by The Coach, wherein she says that the year was phenomenal, she cannot believe how much you progressed, and for those of you just entering the program, you're going to have to work very, very hard to get even half as good. I'm sure that motivates them to no end. There was a nice little fillip this time where she said that she gets almost no support, financial or organizational, from the school district - a certain amount of bitterness seeping out at that point. They did ask one guy, who's the general handyman -- drives the truck, sets things up, moves things around -- to give a speech, which is unusual. He was pretty good -- particularly when he said that nobody will say this, but school grades are really more important than color guard. Which is the line the director gives every year when she's pitching the program to the oh-my-god-they're-so-tiny young girls thinking about it. Only I think he actually meant it. So I imagine we won't be hearing from him, next time around. Which is the year when my daughter will be one of the weeping seniors -- my daughter? A high school senior? When the hell did that happen?

I brought a book to help me get through it. That was a good idea, though I got a little glum reading about how, basically, the French will never be your 'friend'; the most you can ever hope for is a polite cordiality, though, perhaps, after years, they might deign to consider you a friend -- which event you will note by the fact that they now feel free to criticize you, something they only do to close friends. And all that time you thought your French was, all things considered, not bad? While they were nodding and smiling - and telling you in fluent English that your French is really quite good - they were actually thinking This person, they are massacring the language, they should just stick to that mother tongue of theirs. Some of them, at least. Hoo, boy.

On the other hand, the food was good.

This week, I get to start being a hardnose with my mento, who is currently failing four subjects. I put the fear of god into him last week (which is actually something that I find difficult to do; beating up on a kid?) and this week, we start pushing intensively on two of the subjects -- two instead of four, because I can't do four; I'll be lucky to do two. So that should be fun.

Wonder if any of that banquet cake is left?