In a moment of enthusiasm probably brought on by my ten year old's teacher calling my child's a Pleasure to Have in Class--as opposed to Menace to Society like last year's teacher-- my husband volunteered me to teach French in the classroom.
It came as a shock that he would do that to me, but in retrospect, the mood of the moment was the real culprit. We were sitting on miniature chairs at a miniature table with big grins of relief on our faces, feeling thankful for this wonderful teacher who could handle a boy who does impromptu break dancing on the floor during class. So my husband got that urge to give back to society I guess, and offered my time. I turned a deep shade of red (did I tell you I was a terrible blusher) and said, but of course, i would absolutely love to-- and promptly volunteered him for my teen's high school tennis team the next day. I think it's only fair.
I like to be involved in the school and since I am chronically terrified of some of the more overzealous combative competitive mothers that haunt the PTA, teaching French isn't a bad idea. But I have become increasingly protective of my time. Healthy selfishness is what I call it. All this to say that I had not been in a child's class room in a few years.
This morning was our first class. I taught them how to say Je m'appelle, je suis une fille, or un garçon. I showed them how the mouth moves to make the sounds 'eu',' an' and 'on' and made them laugh. We practice feel our 'r' in our throats. Not on the tongue, but just on the roof of the mouth. I told them how French is spoken by 128 million people across the world, how nouns in French are either boy (like a book) or girl (a chair), how in French you don't pronounce h at the beginning of a word or most s at the end of it, and other absurd things they won't remember by the time I go back next week.
I was charmed by them, those 34 faces looking at me, ready to learn and to have fun. The kids were of all colors and shape but all so beautifully open and I wondered wistfully but what oh what will happen in the next three years that will transform them into shut-faced, non communicative, brooding and pimply blobs that will not make eye contact, unless of course they are lying, which they will do while looking straight into your eyes.
If you have a chance, you might want to see the French movie 'the class' and you will get an idea of how weird, how alien, teenagers can be. Before puberty, they are lovely and vulnerable creatures, and one day they are taken away, abducted, by some implacable force inside their brain. I went to a talk on the subject and learned what and why. The seat of empathy, the
amygdala I'm told is under developed. Teenagers have particular trouble reading facial expressions, something that babies do naturally and are physiologically unable to see the big pictures and contemplate their own mortality.
Isn't is interesting how nature makes sure that everything is in place for the teenager to stop worrying, stop caring about mom and dad, lose the sense of risk. How else would they cut the umbilical chord?
My teenager is wonderful. I love him with all my heart. He is one of the good ones. One thing he is not, however, one thing he stopped being nearly overnight, is the child version of himself. It is strange how much I miss the old him while loving the new him. And I'm sad to think that in another couple of years, my ten-year-old will be gone as well, at least under the form I cherish now.
Next week, we're learning gros mots I think. How to say fart and and boogers. I have to keep the class interesting.
