Je ne parle pas français, apparently...

Monday came and I had my shiny new notebook, pens and tote bag. I worked for a few hours before going to my first class, greeted people with enthusiasm and a broad smile and generally faced the day with optimism and anticipation for the evening ahead. At 5:00 pm I would be heading back to school. Yeah me!

I caught the shuttle on time to make it to my car on time so that I might make it to class on time (I know) and found the parking garage to be light on cars and traffic, something I NEVER experienced while taking day time classes. With ease and quickness I found a parking spot and my classroom. I settled into my seat, introduced myself to the classmates previously settled and waited.

Okay, now this is what I was prepared for:
  • an introduction by the instructor, in English
  • a reminder, in English, that most of this class would be taught in French
  • a review, in English, of the syllabus, outside resources, contact information, etc.
  • introductions around the classroom, in English
  • and a review of helpful phrases in order to communicate in a francophone classroom

And this is what happened (somehow I gather you've figured out what happened here):

  • a very demonstrative, fast-talking introduction by the instructor, in French
  • a complete lesson taught, in French
  • reminders to only ask questions en français every single time a question was posed, in French
  • no review of the syllabus, resources or contact info in French OR English
  • introductions around the room, but one at a time in front of the class, in French only
  • no review of helpful phrases in order to communicate and the constant barrage of en français! coming from the instructor any time someone tried to clarify
Now, don't get me wrong here, I understand the value of only speaking French in this class. I do. But some warning would have been nice! Or at least the opportunity to have a lesson to attempt preparing for the inevitable. Ultimately my biggest problem is me. I haven't been in a French class in three semesters....and I can't say it's all rushing back to me either. I have not heard my instructor speak one word of English and even if he permits you to ask a question in English he will only answer in French. The class received an email from him today regarding an assignment and, yep, you guessed it, it was in French. It can be frustrating when you want so badly to communicate with someone when you do not share a language, but my frustration is stemming from the knowledge that he could communicate with me in a different language but chooses no to. I am finding it maddening and know it will hinder my ultimate comprehension. I am realizing a tutor will be a must this semester.

For me (and I am pretty sure one other poor, sad, soul) Monday night was absolutely demoralizing. I tried my hardest to keep up, to find the sounds and words in my brain, to make sense of the rush of information being fed to me. I have never wanted to understand something more in my life. My attempt to ask questions and worker harder to understand fell flat because I could not ask my questions in French. This just shut me down even more. There was one moment in class when the instructor asked me a question 6 times before I could finally come to some conclusion as to what he was asking me. At the point of recognition, however, he was frustrated with me and had no patience for me to squeak out a feeble French response. I don't even have words in French or English to describe how awful this felt. By the time 6:45 pm rolled around I was utterly defeated.

And then it was time for a 3 hour American Lit class....with the Quiet As a Church Mouse Professor. Great subject matter, terrible classroom execution.

I cried the entire way home. More like sobbed. Audibly. The conversation I had with myself was ugly, "What are you doing with yourself Catie?! At this moment in your life you know more about tumor markers and chemo treatments than you do about French and Art! What a waste of time and energy, you're never going to make it through this semester, let alone graduate with a ridiculous degree in Art History. Have you forgotten you will have to pass an oral and written French exam in order to even apply for the Master's program?! Seriously, what the heck are you even going to do with this silly degree? You mean to tell me you're in how much debt for all of this AND you've put off having a family for this?!!!" Oh, it was bad. Really, really bad.

When I got home I landed in my soft place - Robbie. He was so worried and immediately did what he thought he could do to help....he downloaded French podcasts for my iPod and nearly had me convinced that a brand new MacBook would be extremely helpful. (I gotta hand it to him, he's pretty good, that one!) He talked me down from my ledge and then he said this:

Catie, sounds like you're just gonna have to learn French.

Comments

Lady and Tater said…
God bless that man. :) Hang in there Catie! I KNOW you can do it! (oh, you poor thing!!!)
3:07 PM
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