Life's Language Turns

I grew up in what was an upper-middle class French-Canadian neighborhood with large pockets of English speaking Italians. My school friends were Italians but my street pals were French. We all converged on various organized sports. In my case, it was soccer, pick-up baseball and of course hockey (and a bunch of other sports to name here).

I was exposed to French everyday and if I may say so myself, I was decently fluid. My grammar in school, on the other hand, was terrible. Largely because I didn't care to study. French is a tough language with all its rules and exceptions. I was too daft to see the benefits of studying properly. In my mind, I spoke it and that was good enough. Dumbass.

Then, I hit university and suddenly my exposure to French dwindled. It became non-existant when I went to work for the bank on the West Island of Montreal after graduation where all the "square heads" (English) live. For ten more years I didn't have to converse much in French safe for a few people here and there.

Naturally, while we still lived in areas where French was predominant it was largely restricted to alls and restaurants and speaking with neighbours, I lost an edge. I keep in touch with some pals from the street but nearly as much as I should.

Now, with my day care, I'm back in the middle of the French mileu. Everything is done in French and quite frankly, this time around, I'm embracing it. Already, I see it improving. I can easily sit back and wish things were done in my language but that's not the case. I have to be pragmatic. If I want that, I'll just buy a house in Ontario or Vermont.

For now, I'm challenging myself and so far so good. There's room for improvement. Long gone are the days when my French neighbours would say, "my God you're French is impeccable! You speak three languages! C'est formidable!"

The writing part, however, I fear, is too late. I can write but not on a professional level.