Growing up in Toronto you couldn’t really get away from French class, even if you wanted to. I suppose it’s the same for some Americans and Spanish class.
Although I was never that adept at second languages — mind you, my French teacher once said I had a great ear — I liked the exposure to French Canada and, as a kid, imagining Montreal as some huge city (it used to be bigger than Toronto, I think).
One day, however, I fell from grace with my elementary school French teacher, who must have been good at French but not basic physics.
Well, we had an assembly in the gym and I was doing my best to belt out a French song that we’d learned. The French teacher was at the front end of the gym while I and a childhood pal were at the back end. And I guess because it takes a while for sound to travel across distances, there was a slight delay. So while my pal and I thought we were right on time and being good, enthusiastic boys, my French teacher heard us just behind herself and the kids singing close to her.
C’était terrible! And was she ever ticked off! “Michel, I know you are better dan dat…” she said disapprovingly.
Utterly perplexed and quite innocent.
Ceci a fini mon statut comme étoile lumineuse dans la classe française !
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