EPT+ Show Spoiler +
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n-_mQ4HcGkA
*Key thing to note, Brenda Lee does the original
*Key thing to note, Brenda Lee does the original
I walked into the supermarket today, a usual weekly thing. I go in around 9 to 10 p.m to avoid the long lines, the judgmental glances of other consumers I swoop by and the summer bag boys not caring about their job or my precious raspberries. Upon entering, there is a large billboard stating what is on sale, to consider and other interested goodies for the aimless (because whoever walks into a supermarket usually always end up buying more than they originally intended to buy). I never actually paid attention to it until now and it wasn't because of anything in particular, but rather of the language. Lately and I would even say extensively, I've been getting these punches of memories; these buried events and transitions of my life that I never could recall before.
As you all know, I'm in a city and province that is very keen on their french (Bill 101). So proud of their language, culture and people that all their signs, menus, billboards and teachings are in french. All new immigrants coming in from another country are obliged to learn French upon arriving via attending french schools or other methods (there are exceptions to this and some written areas have an english translations, but always in a smaller font. This is mostly in Montreal though, you'll never see it where I was or even more up North). I never really delved into the whole charter or even really learned about it because it was never a choice for me. Either my parents decided this, knowing the difficulties, or the province basically had their hands tied, I don't know. In any case, at the age of 12, I was enrolled to Jolivent (http://jolivent.csp.qc.ca/).
![[image loading]](http://jolivent.csp.qc.ca/wp-content/themes/csp-primaire/images/ecoles/Jolivent/imgPropos.jpg)
It looks really reputable and good-looking, but 10 years ago, it was a bit of a rut and dirty place. I'm not going to lie and say I wasn't nervous on my first day, this is obvious. I also won't describe the sequence of that day because it's long, a real bother and a good dinner conversation (so if I meet any of you guys at a bar or restaurant, I'll have something to banter about. Though, as a taste; imagine taking a school bus that dropped you off at the wrong school. Your parents said they'd meet you there, but they never showed [because you were at the wrong school, but you didn't know because you never saw the school before-hand] and you couldn't ask for help, directions or where the fuck you are because you don't speak a word of French [and in this small town called Beloeil, nobody speaks very good English either]).
Onward we go. I was attending the 6th grade at the time. It's the last year of primary school here in Quebec. My teacher's english was terrible, I had one friend at the beginning who's English was equally broken (what could you expect from someone who was similarly young and learning) and my English teacher's name was Roberto who showcased and bragged about his retirement letter on the first day (something related to his retirement, I can't recall). This is where Sylvie comes in. Sylvie was someone I saw several times a week when the class was learning their french grammar. She was a Kindergarten teacher for a neighboring school and her english was, as expected, terrible, but she knew how to teach french to newbies such as myself and my brother (who was attending the fourth grade). She was much younger than most teachers around here, olive skin and her eyes were hazel. She was sweet, genuine and very patient (you had to be!). Her hair was a nutty flavor, tumbling from side to side and stopping short around her ear, dangling, frazzled from the fall. She sort of reminds me of an older Thandie Newton, minus the accent and acting career.
![[image loading]](http://0.tqn.com/d/beauty/1/0/7/p/thandienewtonbob.JPG)
Probably not the most flattering picture of Thandie Newton (who has the cutest accent ever), but same style of hair, a bit older and you have Sylvie.
I don't know if she volunteered, was the most adequate or the law required the school to send someone to help my brother and I (who were very hyperactive and troublesome boys), but she helped us several times a weeks learn about the basics of French. I'm not sure where we began, but somewhere along these times we played board games and learned every word from them. We played bingo and a whole lot of other silly stuff to basically increase our vocabulary. French verbs were the hardest and during our spring breaks and such, our father forced us to do these workbooks and our bible suddenly became: "Code vert - Petite grammaire pour le primaire" (Little Grammar for the Primary); a sort of Bescherelle for younger children.
We did this for several months and even through the next year (I had to do my 6th grade again since basically I couldn't do any of the actual classes: I didn't speak a word of french). I didn't see any point in this and used to lament about how I only had a year to learn french and that this was impossible, etc. etc. (I kept up this form of victimization until the 10th grade, especially after I had redone my 9th grade and blamed my high-school for being french and too hard for me rather than accept the fact that I was lazy and disinterested). But there was something special about these sessions with Sylvie. The school didn't have a huge budget and my actual teacher (Micheline was her name, we had to refer to the teachers by their first name, which was something unusual and new for me) didn't really put much of an effort to make me feel at home. I still think she was a bit of a french elitist: people who don't accept immigrants butchering their language or basically don't accept that people learning french for the first time will always have trouble with basic sentence structure because they write as they speak since that is their primary form of expression and understanding/approach to the language (I think this is correct, I wonder if Mani can correct me or throw in his own two cents). As I was saying; Sylvie managed to take us on field trips, just my brother and I in her little red card. We drove for a fair amount of minutes, unsure of where we going, but it was so exciting to be able to leave the school with just my brother and I going to some place new and different. I don't know if she wanted to do this out of the goodness of her heart, because it was the right thing to do or because she truly believed we would benefit from this. But she introduced us to the basic cultures of Quebec. We saw a lot of places, Apple Orchids where she bought us jam, a Cabane a Sucre and for breakfast to learn about the foods and traditions of Quebec.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hgbvlk5fgwI
For those who don't know what a Cabane a Sucre is
For those who don't know what a Cabane a Sucre is
I will never forget those trips we took. Ice skating even I believe. As you will see in the video, the boiled syrup in snow with a popsicle thing is so fucking good and fun. The effect just left me astounded.
So, to boil it all down. Someone helped me learn french during my first years here and went the extra mile to teach me Quebec beyond the scope of its language. And I just wish to see her one more time to thank her, show how much I've improved my french (I'll never get the accent down, that's for sure) and just truly show my appreciation. I haven't thought of her in years, nor my school, but as I am looking at this moon hanging over the bright city of Montreal: a clash of ethnicities, languages and culture, I think back to my little town of St-Mathieu-de-Beloeil and think of Sylvie and my first years immersed in a very proud and french community. I'm glad I will never forget what she did for me, how her help basically barely got me through french high-school and into a province of nearly 8 million people. I still love English and I never got into french television (even when I stayed in Switzerland and France), but it isn't until now that I've come to feel good and appreciative of the work she's done. I regretted not fighting hard enough to be put in an English school, to take the fast and easy track of denying Quebec's heritage and just getting through my basic education, but now I think I'm glad I was forced to go this way instead, I only regret playing the victim card for so long and not seeing how easy I had it in comparison to other immigrants who probably have it either much harder or just never made it because those meant to help them, never reached out.
I now go into stores and understand nearly everything. If someone asked me to translate it word for word, I probably couldn't. Reading another language just becomes... its own language. I always got asked if I thought in English or French and it was always English, but when reading or making a choice or decision, the process would just occur in french and it'd be this whole other mindset of understanding. I know what they're saying, I know my response and there is no form of translating going on in my head per se, it's just acting as anyone else (with slight delay perhaps). I think someone can explain this better than me.
In any case, that's what's been on the tip of mind lately. Just this feeling of wanting to thank someone, I don't get to often and there are very few people I feel I would thank. But she is definitely there and if I ever got an award for some kind of pointless achievement, she'd be in my thank yous everytime.
That's really it.
P.S: Reading comics was also a great way to see how much you are improving or learning. I was a huge fan of Petit Spirou and Asterix at the time (and my mother took away all my video-games, so comics were the closest thing).
![[image loading]](http://juste2passage.romandie.com/get/7079/spirou%202.jpg)
An example of a Petit Spirou comic strip. It revolved around a young Spirou who was fascinated by breasts and women. It's a bit of a tongue in cheek or perverted comic for kids. We liked it because it was funny regardless if we understood what the text wrote (and for years we didn't) and the art was commonly well-done and clear
Hm... I actually don't like this blog at all. It feels undetailed and not usually descriptive. I'm not going to change it because it's fucking long already, but I'm not satisfied either.
You should go find her!
