Was anyone wondering if I would throw my hands up and just say to Hades with France and this whirlwind adventure? Oh, maybe that was just me.
Well, I'm giving it the old college try...the old post-college try and the old French college try as it were... putting on my big girl pants, strapping on my boots, tying my scarf and heading into the dark vast jungle that is France's public education system.
This morning I arrived promptly at 8:00. For a class that started at 9. Just to be sure. Did something go awry? Is the pope Catholic?
One of the English teachers stopped in the teacher's lounge to make a copy, and he found me reading quietly in the corner. "Oh, we have a problem. Hasn't anyone told you?" To which I answered, "Problems are just an everyday occurrence for me, so you'll have to specify."Not really, but that's what I was thinking.
This was the least problematic problem yet. There was a slight schedule change two weeks ago, so two of the classes he had scheduled me for were at slightly different times. Whew. No big deal.
This afternoon I attended a class from 10-11 with the English teacher was there to facilitate questions while I introduced myself. We did the same routine from 3-4. Some of my favorite questions include:
-Are you from Texas and do you have a cow?
-Do you have guns (except he said huns, to which I said "huh?")? Of course. 7. Do I shoot them? Yes. I've been practicing for years. Big eyes stared back at me. I think I got their attention with that one. Don't mess with Texas.
-Do alligators eat chocolate? Interesting question. I'll have to experiment the next time I'm home with our pond pet. He does like marshmellows. They also insisted that I name the Gulotta family alligator, and I suppose we should because right now he's affectionately called The Alligator. It's hard to feel too warm and fuzzy about something with that many teeth.
I know I've only been in the French college setting for a total of three hours in the past two days, but I think it's safe to say that middle schoolers are just angsty and rowdy here as they are in the U.S. French children must grow out of their cadre, or frame, pretty early on. On the whole they're good kids who just have too many hormones and sugar rushing though their veins to sit still for too long.
The teachers are great, and they've been my saving grace at these schools. The woman I worked with this afternoon has offered to kind of take me under her wing, introduce me to her family, correct my French, and she even invited me to dinner tonight. Things are looking up, so I'm going to give this job my best and see what happens.
Bon mardi!
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