Thrashed in French class

There is nothing to take my confidence and rip it to shreds like learning a new language. Yes, I am able to get my point across, yes, I am able to converse for an hour and a half but just when I feel like I’ve arrived at a new station, the next train has already left.

And so it is with my French class. Just when I think I’m getting it. Bongo! You still suck.

Well not really but you get what I’m saying. The goal posts keep being moved just when I think they are in sight and I’m sprinting down the field toward them. But wait, where are they now?

There is so much to learn and in my very halting way I am learning. The language is becoming easier to navigate except when I have to listen to a news report and field questions about what I just listened to. Apparently, I have a knack for always hearing the things that aren’t the main idea. So when it comes to main ideas I’m at a loss.

I rear up on my hind legs, like a frightened horse and back away with nostrils flaring. And come home to read until I find a word buried in my ink like poppy, which is “coquelicot” and I’m charmed again.

Language lessons are not for wimps. But I feel sure I will triumph through sheer determination. I’m like a high jumper who keeps bringing the bar down it’s set so darn high. One of these days I will sail over, and over again, clearing every time. One of these days.



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