43
French lessons – good and bad
Tuesday evenings were reserved for French lessons. My eldest daughter, Brittany, studied with Madame Dinopoulos. Brittany was only 12 years old at the time. That was nearly 10 years ago.
In golden sunsets, Brittany and I would journey to Madame’s residence. There, she would be greeted with a welcome in French. “Bonsoir, Brittany,” Madame would say enthusiastically. “Bonsoir, Madame”, Brittany would respond, smiling.
Madame would place her hand softly upon Brittany’s shoulder as she led her into her home and down the hallway, speaking in French as they made their way. I was directed to a comfortable chair in the front parlor while teacher and student proceeded to the kitchen table for study.
Colorful paintings hung on the walls about me. They depicted scenes of village life in France. In the corner of the room, a grandfather clock chimed upon the quarter hours. A small wooden carving of a mouse sat at the top of the clock and stared down at me with an inquisitive expression. It kept me company as I waited.
I would listen as student and teacher progressed with their studies. Pronunciations were corrected, verbs were conjugated, and songs were sung in French to aid in the understanding of the intricacies of the language.
Laughter often found its way from the kitchen to the front parlor. “Tres bien, Brittany, tres bien!” Madame would exclaim with encouragement. I would smile, feeling a sense of satisfaction that my daughter’s horizons were being expanded beyond the limits of my own experiences. I nurtured a sense of optimism that her future would be fulfilling and complete.
At the conclusion of each lesson, Brittany would receive a new assignment for the following week. She would pack her book bag with her papers and say “Au revoir, Madame” as we walked down the front porch steps and to our car. She would chatter all the way home about the things she had learned. On one occasion, she promised that someday she would visit the Eiffel Tower. To this day, she keeps a small metal model of the Eiffel Tower on her bedroom dresser to remind herself of that promise.
This past November, I watched as the news announced the terrorists’ attacks in Paris. Scenes of confusion and chaos filled the television screen. Brittany telephoned that same evening from medical school. “Dad, are you watching the news?” she asked. I recognized a tone of disbelief in her voice.
“Yes, Brittany, it is just terrible,” I said. We spoke intermittently as we absorbed the reports of death and destruction in Paris. It was a lesson in the cruelty of man and of the senselessness of hate and violence. I wondered if the world had gone completely mad.
I wished Brittany to be safe as our conversation ended. In the silence, I thought back to the time when I journeyed in golden sunsets with my young daughter to the home of a kind and retired teacher, a teacher who introduced her to the beauty and goodness that the world could offer. I thought back to the time when a father believed that the world of his children would be blessed with unbounded opportunity, peace, and wonder. In the times in which we are living, it is easy to despair.
Yet, I recall a traditional French Christmas carol from Brittany’s lessons with Madame Dinopoulos. It is titled, “Il Est N , Le Divin Enfant”. I found a translation of this carol to share:
He is born, the Heavenly Child
Oboes play; set bagpipes sounding
He is born, the Heavenly Child.
Let all sing his nativity.
‘Tis four thousand years and more,
Prophets have foretold his coming.
‘Tis four thousand years and more,
We have waited this happy hour.
In a stable lodged is He,
Straw is all He has for cradle.
In a stable lodged is He,
Oh how great humility!
Jesus Lord, O King with power,
Though a little babe You come here,
Jesus Lord, O king with power,
Rule o’er us from this glad hour.
In the times in which we are living, it is easy to despair. But, in this Christmas season, as we celebrate the birth of our Savior, I choose to nurture a hope that a better tomorrow will prevail.
330-501-3165