|Sandy Neck, 10/1/11|
My parents honeymooned on the
Cape in 1962, when there wasn’t too much out here and my dad spearfished off the beach, probably to impress my mom with his abilities as a provider. Maybe if all we ever ate was dogfish? But they were both from Western Massachusetts and set up shop there, literally, an automotive repair shop and gas station. On opening day, Dad offered a free case of Pepsi with a fill-up, gift value $1.69. But somewhere along the line Dad had taken French, and would toss out a petit mot or two now and then. He sang Alouette. This was a big guy on a motorcycle. My first dog was a toy miniature French poodle named Cherie who jumped out of a hat box on Christmas morning, circa 1970.
I went to Montessori kindergarten in
somewhere around then, and my favorite thing was French class, more Alouette. I still don’t know all of the words to it. But after that it was public school, where foreign language was, well, a foreign idea until seventh grade. In 1972, my parents divorced and I changed school districts. In junior high one chose French or Spanish and that was your lot in life. Although I was really interested in the lengua maternal of my Cuban great-grandfather, I went with the French flow, as down the Canal du Midi. Springfield
Neither high school nor French class were my shtick. Although I threw in a semester of Latin and one of Spanish, three and a half years of that French program got me nowhere. There weren’t any French questions on the GED exam. But I didn’t give up and struggled on again with Madame Ball at
|My daughter at the time of that first trip|