Beautiful Cynicism III

Out of the mouths of babes… Those were the wittiest barbs we could come up with, at age 5 and 6. Oui, même à cette âge, c’était anglophone contre francophone…
Dans la photo on voit la classe maternelle de la Cynique. (Elle est à la gauche, dans le milieu – celle qui mange un hot-dog… Miam miam! Ah, the culinary exploits of five year-olds…) L’année était 1985, la première année que la Cynique faisait partie de la programme d’immersion française à l’école. Bien que c’est peut-être incroyable grâce à mes fautes de grammaire nombreuses, la plupart de mon éducation était en français. Et ce n’était pas facile pour moi et mes camarades de classe – à chaque étape, nous avons rencontré de la résistance et de la jalousie – des étudiants en la programme “normale” (c’est-à-dire: anglais) qui nous accusaient, “Vous pensez que vous êtes tellement doués”, ou, “Nous sommes aussi intelligents que vous”, et de leurs parents qui murmuraient “Vous pensez que vous êtes si spéciales, n’est-ce pas?” At the time it felt like unjustified hostility; in retrospect I see some of what they meant.

We were considered a special group. At that time, French Immersion was still a relatively new program. We went on more field trips, had more guest speakers, and were the only ones who sang the national anthem in two languages in school assemblies. While the other kids switched classmates every year, we moved through the grades as a block. Every year, day in and day out, we saw the same faces; as a result, over the years we became a tightly-knit group, more akin to siblings than classmates. It was an intimate relationship, a kind of forced bond, and it successfully kept others at bay – including many teachers. Which is not to say we were all friends, or even all got along well; we just knew each other deeply and completely. By high school, only a few of our courses were still in the French language; most classes were then in English, so the few hours a week we got to reunite was a good time. Also, by that time, we wore our French education like a badge of honour – no longer ashamed of being “different”, we relished in the fact that we could speak “in code” in front of our unilingual English friends, and French class became an opportunity of catching up with old friends, and laughing, and sharing stories. When we walked into French class, personal shyness or solitude took a backseat: we were without exception a bunch of raucous teenagers.

By that time, the jealousy of other students and parents, the disdain of some teachers (such as my first English-language math teacher who berated the immersion students, in front of our entire class, for being involved in such a “stupid” program, and who predicted that we would find no success in life after having wasted our education on some foreign language), and our own scepticism no longer fazed us – at least not often. Memories of being called a frog – or a French fry – faded. Des autres souvenirs – le voyage au Québec, les festivals du Carnaval, les concerts, les drames francophones, l’enseignante qui nous a laissé préparer un repas français par semaine – ont devenus plus clairs, plus importants. Ce sont ces aspects de nos années ensemble dont on se souvient – pas les leçons de grammaire et les dictées. Et si j’ai toujours du mal à conjuguer certains verbes, ou de me souvenir quels noms sont féminins et quels sont masculins, il y a une chose que l’immersion française m’a fournie: la compréhension de la langue. Parler, écrire en français – si on est anglophone, on a besoin de les pratiquer pour préserver ses connaissances. Mais lire et écouter? Je peux lire les romans français, écouter les chansons françaises, regarder les films français pratiquement sans problèmes. Grâce à la programme, la compréhension m’est assez naturelle.