There have been a couple pieces in the media lately (here and here) about European governments eschewing their native languages’ inundation with English. I find this attitude persnickety and therefore funny; the phenomenon is also very real and simply inevitable. Wake up, people. English has been the lingua franca for some time—and its assimilation into world languages isn’t going to slow down in today’s globalized economy.
I knew that well before I started learning French a year and a half ago, but it didn’t prevent me from being amused with just how many English words were part of the everyday vernacular. Hearing the French speak full sentences in their own language with some random English words (in pitch-perfect French pronunciation) peppered in is hilarious. Nearly all the classes at my Parisian gym had English names. One day I took a class without knowing what it was, so at the end I asked the teacher for the class’ name. “Buh-dee baaah-laaahnce,” she informed me. Huh? “Ahhhh, tu veux dire bah-dee ba-lance [in full-on American accent],” I said nearly automatically. Incidentally, she looked at me a little strangely. Overhearing ladies in the locker room exclaiming that “Le Struh-tcheeeeeeeng—c’est top!” always made me smirk, but my all-time favorite was hearing the Body Pump (strength-training) instructor scream “Encore PUEHMP!!!!!!!!” throughout the class. I would nearly drop my dumbbell due to my own little, private laughing fit.
It gets even more humorous in the realm of business. The following are all common Frenglish expressions I’ve heard on the go or from my students:
• C’est dans le planning
• Je vais check-er ça
• Il faut wait-and-see
• Il est le top, top manager
• J’attends les feedbacks [also, note the plural!]
The French government has been slowly awakening to the reality that French has been permeated by its linguistic foe, but not without putting up a fight. The Cultural Ministry launched a huge campaign in the 90’s to create its own words for technological terms--for example, using courriel for email--but those newfangled words never stuck (except in Canada). Today, in the Paris Métro, one can see many ads sporting English phrases (some of which don’t make a whole lot of sense). However, there is a French law that requires a translation of any English text in any ad into French. Granted, the translation usually appears in tiny font at the bottom of the billboard.
The government’s resistant attitude has trickled down to its citizens, too. To understand why, it's important to examine the average French person's educational experience with English. Most French students start learning English in middle school, if not before. They take English for about three hours a week, until they reach high school, where they take it for about five to six hours a week. They might continue studying English at university, for yet again a few hours a week. Then they might proceed on a lifelong path of honing their English, or they might never speak English again…until their company demands that they take English lessons to boost job performance. Along the way, the French educational system places a high emphasis on accuracy, thus training its pupils to be scared of being incorrect—a feeling that persists into adulthood. As an English teacher of adults, I encountered a scale of attitudes towards English: total openness to complete resentment. I could tell where a student resided on this continuum—essentially determining their “type”—from the moment they uttered their first sentence in English in my presence. And so here they are:
The Happy-Go-Lucky: While he may not always have gotten his diction, grammar, or syntax right, that was never the point. HGL approached a lesson fearlessly, unfazed by his errors and ready to learn from them. One HGL student of mine had low proficiency, but put a lot of effort into telling me about the wonders of Bretagne right before my vacation there. He informed me that the coast is very sunny, but “the sun, he pushes the clowns to the interior. Yes, the interior is very clowny.” I stifled a giggle, but also a wince (I am irrationally afraid of clowns…I just find them very creepy), before explaining his mistake. He laughed at himself and repeated the word “cloud” several times before continuing his monologue about Bretagne. Très adorable.
The Steamroller: Ever the motormouth, she will race through her thoughts, often making errors—the same errors, over and over again, in fact. You, the teacher, will make limitless attempts to correct those errors, all to no avail, as it never sinks in. It’s kind of a take-no-prisoners approach to English. I called my Steamrollers out on their steamrollery behavior all the time, and they’d grin sheepishly, apologize, and say, “I know, I know…I’m bad.” However, at the end of the day, the Steamroller’s inclination to speak so quickly in English was a direct result of her enthusiasm for the language, albeit sloppily demonstrated.
The Faux Debutant: This is the student who stopped learning English after school and then finds himself in the unfortunate predicament of having to relearn it from scratch for his job. He is known in France (not just by me) as The Faux Debutant, or false beginner, as he has some foundation that has atrophied. FD therefore has a Complex about speaking English, causing you, the teacher, to evolve into a psychoanalyst of sorts. Does the student always try to get you to talk about your personal life? It’s an evasion strategy. Does she always crack jokes during the lesson? A natural comedienne, perhaps, but it’s a cover for feelings of inadequacy. I taught a group of three FD’s, all middle-aged assistants, who constantly made fun of each others’ developing English skills—and also viciously corrected each others’ errors. Ding, ding, ding! An opportunity to feel momentarily superior. The FD’s might as well be called the Defense Mechanists.
The Perfectionist / The Wallflower: These are separate types, but they are two sides of the same coin. As the French education system places such a high value on correctness, some English students, even as adults, tend to clam up and be too timid to speak (The Wallflowers) or are overly concerned about speaking absolutely correctly and thus browbeating themselves if they make a tiny error (The Perfectionists). As a teacher, it’s hard to win with either type. All the self-confidence boosting methods that I’d strengthened teaching teenagers fell flat with adults, as their low linguistic self-esteeem lay quite deep. In some one-on-one lessons the mood could get so awkward that I’d have to handhold the student all the way through the lesson, essentially doing a grade school-esque fill-in-the-blank oral exercise. I am not an intimidating person—the Wallflowers just can’t handle the humiliation. On the other hand, the Perfectionists were more interactive, but they could create just as awkward a vibe as the Wallflowers. If they made an error that I then corrected, the uptightness would explode in a tirade of cursing and violent smacks to the forehead. (Think Philip Seymour Hoffman’s grossly uncomfortable “Stupid idiot!” bit in “Boogie Nights.”) I tried to pump up their self-esteem with encouraging words, and all I would get in response was, “Oh, but you are such a positive American,” which roughly translates to: You are naïve and therefore your opinion is worthless to me. See? You can’t win.
The Defeatist: Speaking of not being able to win, there’s the Defeatist, a distant cousin (twice-removed) of the Perfectionist. The Defeatist crumbles at the slightest hint of any linguistic challenge. Prepositions were the breaking point for one of my Defeatists. Granted, prepositions are difficult, but my student’s cascade of agonized sighs and holdling her head in her hands was just over the top. Many Defeatists would often complain that there was no use to them learning the language, as they would never make progress. A foreign language is not a crushing weight that will squash the universe down into a tiny little speck of dust, but no dose of “positive American” or even teacherly tough love could convince them otherwise. I think they, like the French government, are still bitter that français never lived up to its promise as lingua franca all the world over.
Showing posts with label teaching. Show all posts
Showing posts with label teaching. Show all posts
23 November 2008
28 June 2008
L'anglais des enfants
For the past few months, I’ve been giving private, weekly English lessons to a family of three young children, ages eight, six, and four. The experience has been nothing short of adorable, as well as humorous in a very different way than is teaching adults.
First, there are the looks. Children have no emotional filter, and they wear their hearts on more than just their sleeves. The lessons always start out with expressions of joy and enthusiasm, but that all stops short when they can’t remember a particular word or expression. The kids get this look that’s packed with so many feelings: fear, shame, stress, and a twinge of constipation. I always wonder if this is a product of internal pressure, or of the way French schoolteachers handle “failure.” It’s cute, though, and I always have to stifle a small giggle before telling them in my most reassuring voice, “Ne vous inquietez pas! On va reviser.” (Don’t worry! We’ll review.)
Au contraire, they have the funniest range of looks when they successfully remember the vocabulary: the eight-year-old boy shows off his biceps all Popeye-like, the six-year-old girl flashes a smug little grin, and the four-year-old boy bounces in his seat while waving a fist in the air.
Second, there’s the way they speak English. Hearing a thick French accent from the mouths of babes is just heart-melting. Every time I arrive, they belt out, “Eh-llo Jess-EE-kah! Ow ah yooo?” And when I respond and ask them in kind, I get a resounding chorus of, “Varrreeee gude!” So darn cute.
I teach them orally, as two thirds of them can’t really read in French yet, and the only visual aids are pictures, not words. Therefore their pronunciation is based solely on what they hear—or what they think they hear. We do lots of repetition to avoid situations like these:
Me: Pur-ple
Them: Po-po!!!
Me: Wa-ter-me-lon
Them: Wah-dah-meh-now!!!
Me: Hi-ppo-pa-ta-mus
Them: Ee-po-pah-dah-sance
It’s great when they have a eureka moment and make connections with other words they’ve heard before:
Me: Yellow
Little girl: Ah, ouai, yellow! C’est comme eh-llo [hello]!
Me: Turtle
Little boy: Toh-toh, comme po-po!
Which invariably results in the others confusing the sounds of purple and turtle, but that’s not too strange of a mix-up.
The funniest is when they forget a word, they make that anxious face described above, and then guess—which usually entails making up a word derived from French, with a little twist. For example: bread becomes ‘pehn’ (based on the French pain, milk becomes ‘laid’ (based on the French lait, and rabbit becomes ‘lapahno’ (based on the French lapin).
Third, there are the games we play. I have lots of little pictures of the vocab we’ve learned, which are often parlayed into a game of “Meh-moh-rrrreeeee.” They love it, although it can get frustrating because the oldest kid (who is the fastest learner) tends to dominate and answer before his siblings get a chance. I think I’ve given him the “you have to play fair” speech 50 times—but as it’s in my broken French (more on that later), perhaps my admonishment loses some of its teeth. When we learned animal vocab, I took a risk with a boisterous game of “name that animal,” featuring the best of barnyard sounds (i.e., I name an animal in English and you make the sound, or vice versa). I discovered that animal sounds cross language barriers. Sheep, dogs, cats, cows, horses, you name it—their noises are identical in French. Except for roosters, which go, “Co-co-ri-co!” I think I much prefer the French version to 'cock-a-doodle-do,' which is kind of stupid and little bit dirty, depending on how you look at it.
Their absolute favorite thing, ever, is “See-mone Sez.” Oh, how they love this game. I used it a while back to review the vocab of the body—you know, “Simon says touch your nose/back/shoulders/etc.”—and ever since, they ask me first thing if we can play Simon Says immediately. I’ve found that it’s a very effective carrot to keep them focused until the end of the lesson. We play it during the last five minutes every week, and they get super competitive, counting their points in English (sweet) and squabbling over who touched their ears or eyes first. The truly hilarious part is that even though we play it every.single.time, they tend to come down with vocab amnesia. I’ll say, “Simon says…touch…your…feet!” And then it’s a fast-paced process of trial-and-error. “Les bras?” “Les genous?” “La visage?” And so on. Sometimes they forget a word we did several turns previous. But it’s fun and educational and how could I deny them these five minutes of English bliss?
Lastly, there are the opportunities to laugh at myself. Somehow, almost every week, I wind up suffering the humiliation of getting my French corrected by an eight-year-old. My French can be on fire one day, and then just crumble on other days, particularly when I work with these kids. I don’t know what it is—perhaps it’s because I come to their house after a full work day and a hot-as-f*#& ride on the RER and I’m just spent, or perhaps I’m mimicking my surroundings (their English is in its earliest, earliest stages). I make little mistakes, really, but whenever I do, the eight-year-old will get all haughty and say in his best approximation of an adult voice, “Mais, non, Jess-eee-kah, c’est ‘très pres,’ pas ‘très presque.’” I'll smack my head in mock self-deprecation and say, “Bein, ouai, bien sûr—vous savez que mon français n’est pas pafait.” Then the little girl will clasp my hand in hers and says in a very serious voice, “C’est pas grave. C’est normal quand on apprend une nouvelle langue. Surtout, vous êtes prof d’anglais.” (It’s not so serious [that you made a mistake]. It’s normal when we learn a new language. Above all, you’re an English teacher.) Aawwwwwww! Children may not be able to hide their emotions, but their capacity to be sensitive is impressive.
First, there are the looks. Children have no emotional filter, and they wear their hearts on more than just their sleeves. The lessons always start out with expressions of joy and enthusiasm, but that all stops short when they can’t remember a particular word or expression. The kids get this look that’s packed with so many feelings: fear, shame, stress, and a twinge of constipation. I always wonder if this is a product of internal pressure, or of the way French schoolteachers handle “failure.” It’s cute, though, and I always have to stifle a small giggle before telling them in my most reassuring voice, “Ne vous inquietez pas! On va reviser.” (Don’t worry! We’ll review.)
Au contraire, they have the funniest range of looks when they successfully remember the vocabulary: the eight-year-old boy shows off his biceps all Popeye-like, the six-year-old girl flashes a smug little grin, and the four-year-old boy bounces in his seat while waving a fist in the air.
Second, there’s the way they speak English. Hearing a thick French accent from the mouths of babes is just heart-melting. Every time I arrive, they belt out, “Eh-llo Jess-EE-kah! Ow ah yooo?” And when I respond and ask them in kind, I get a resounding chorus of, “Varrreeee gude!” So darn cute.
I teach them orally, as two thirds of them can’t really read in French yet, and the only visual aids are pictures, not words. Therefore their pronunciation is based solely on what they hear—or what they think they hear. We do lots of repetition to avoid situations like these:
Me: Pur-ple
Them: Po-po!!!
Me: Wa-ter-me-lon
Them: Wah-dah-meh-now!!!
Me: Hi-ppo-pa-ta-mus
Them: Ee-po-pah-dah-sance
It’s great when they have a eureka moment and make connections with other words they’ve heard before:
Me: Yellow
Little girl: Ah, ouai, yellow! C’est comme eh-llo [hello]!
Me: Turtle
Little boy: Toh-toh, comme po-po!
Which invariably results in the others confusing the sounds of purple and turtle, but that’s not too strange of a mix-up.
The funniest is when they forget a word, they make that anxious face described above, and then guess—which usually entails making up a word derived from French, with a little twist. For example: bread becomes ‘pehn’ (based on the French pain, milk becomes ‘laid’ (based on the French lait, and rabbit becomes ‘lapahno’ (based on the French lapin).
Third, there are the games we play. I have lots of little pictures of the vocab we’ve learned, which are often parlayed into a game of “Meh-moh-rrrreeeee.” They love it, although it can get frustrating because the oldest kid (who is the fastest learner) tends to dominate and answer before his siblings get a chance. I think I’ve given him the “you have to play fair” speech 50 times—but as it’s in my broken French (more on that later), perhaps my admonishment loses some of its teeth. When we learned animal vocab, I took a risk with a boisterous game of “name that animal,” featuring the best of barnyard sounds (i.e., I name an animal in English and you make the sound, or vice versa). I discovered that animal sounds cross language barriers. Sheep, dogs, cats, cows, horses, you name it—their noises are identical in French. Except for roosters, which go, “Co-co-ri-co!” I think I much prefer the French version to 'cock-a-doodle-do,' which is kind of stupid and little bit dirty, depending on how you look at it.
Their absolute favorite thing, ever, is “See-mone Sez.” Oh, how they love this game. I used it a while back to review the vocab of the body—you know, “Simon says touch your nose/back/shoulders/etc.”—and ever since, they ask me first thing if we can play Simon Says immediately. I’ve found that it’s a very effective carrot to keep them focused until the end of the lesson. We play it during the last five minutes every week, and they get super competitive, counting their points in English (sweet) and squabbling over who touched their ears or eyes first. The truly hilarious part is that even though we play it every.single.time, they tend to come down with vocab amnesia. I’ll say, “Simon says…touch…your…feet!” And then it’s a fast-paced process of trial-and-error. “Les bras?” “Les genous?” “La visage?” And so on. Sometimes they forget a word we did several turns previous. But it’s fun and educational and how could I deny them these five minutes of English bliss?
Lastly, there are the opportunities to laugh at myself. Somehow, almost every week, I wind up suffering the humiliation of getting my French corrected by an eight-year-old. My French can be on fire one day, and then just crumble on other days, particularly when I work with these kids. I don’t know what it is—perhaps it’s because I come to their house after a full work day and a hot-as-f*#& ride on the RER and I’m just spent, or perhaps I’m mimicking my surroundings (their English is in its earliest, earliest stages). I make little mistakes, really, but whenever I do, the eight-year-old will get all haughty and say in his best approximation of an adult voice, “Mais, non, Jess-eee-kah, c’est ‘très pres,’ pas ‘très presque.’” I'll smack my head in mock self-deprecation and say, “Bein, ouai, bien sûr—vous savez que mon français n’est pas pafait.” Then the little girl will clasp my hand in hers and says in a very serious voice, “C’est pas grave. C’est normal quand on apprend une nouvelle langue. Surtout, vous êtes prof d’anglais.” (It’s not so serious [that you made a mistake]. It’s normal when we learn a new language. Above all, you’re an English teacher.) Aawwwwwww! Children may not be able to hide their emotions, but their capacity to be sensitive is impressive.
06 June 2008
Fun With Frenglish
Teaching English to the French does funny things to my brain. It not only helps me learn French (as my students often provide translations of certain words and idioms), but it also simultaneously strengthens and weakens my English. The strengthening part should be fairly obvious—I can easily articulate the grammatical structures of the language, which I’ve never been taught but have learned intuitively (like most native speakers). But the weakening part can be best explained by sharing with you the English I hear day in, day out. And so, it is with a teacher’s loving (and only lightly mocking) heart that I bring you the latest compilation of English gone awry, French style.
Let’s take a journey through what could be a typical conversation on the job (sans teacherly interjections to correct any mistakes):
Me: Can you recommend a good restaurant?
Student: Yes. I am happy to give you the good address. Can you precise me the cuisine you want?
Me: A bistro would be great.
Student: I propose you a bistro, not so touristic, in the first arrondisement. He has very typic French cooking. I suggest you also a sympatic wine bar, not expensive, on the same street. There is a very funny atmosphere.
Me: What are some of the bistro’s specialties?
Student: I always choice the confit de canard. It’s very tasty. And they have sorbets of many unusual perfumes.
Me: Great. And where is it located?
Student: I explain you how to go there. But can you say me your nearest Metro station?
Me: (Give the details)
Student: (Gives directions). And those are all the infos you need to know. Please say me how was your meal. I am very interesting in your feedbacks.
You’ve no doubt noticed what appear to be glaring English errors—but these are mostly instances of the French imposing their own grammar and vocabulary on English. I hear “I propose you…I explain you…I suggest you…I confirm you…” countless times, but that’s just French grammar rearing its head. Say vs. tell is a natural point of confusion. The expression le bon addresse is the French way of saying ‘a great place to go.’ Calling a restaurant “he”? All nouns have genders in French. You can probably guess what 'touristic' and 'typic' should be. 'Sympatic' is derived from sympatique, the French word for nice. Perfume translates to parfum, which could be Chanel No. 5 or a flavor. Info and feedback are always singular in English, but countable in French. Owing to phonological similarity, “choice” and “choose” are frequently confused (my husband got an email from a work event organizer requesting him to “choice his lunch”). In addition, many people don’t realize there’s a distinction between funny and fun; rather, the word funny is used as a catchall, as is done in French. But “I am very interesting” is just a bald-faced mistake, with no language-transfer justification. (I get a kick out of explaining to my students that starting off a sentence that way can cause the false perception that they have highly-inflated senses of self.)
Needless to say, these typical errors are so commonplace that I’ve taken to jokingly using them in my home life, far away from the burning ears of my students. (I know, it’s bad.) I will ask my husband to propose me what he’d like to eat for dinner or to look up infos on the train schedule for our next vacation destination. He’s right there with me, responding in kind, as he hears these same errors every day at his office. The thing is, it’s like the old warning parents give children: if you keep making those faces, one day, they’ll stick. Yes folks, my English skills are starting to deteriorate. Ruh roh.
Let’s go in further depth with Frenglish to show you just how far the rabbit hole things have fallen.
False friends. That’s what the French call English words that appear to have French equivalents, but in reality have different meanings altogether, or no meaning at all. I constantly have to correct my students’ use of these phonies, explaining that people work at companies, not societies; that getting into car accidents can hurt people, not bless them; and that a business can be profitable, not rentable. At a shop, an employee—in an effort to practice his English—asked me if I had any money, because he “have not money.” It seems like a rather obvious, albeit bizarre, question to a customer, right? What he meant was, he was out of small change (in French, monnaie), so did I have any I could pay with? My all-time favorite: a student once said that a certain solution wouldn’t be very “sweatable” (the French souhaitable, sounds just like it if said Anglo style, but it means desirable). It’s all very funny until false friends come unintentionally tumbling out of your own mouth. I once complained to a colleague about the poor organization skills of a ‘formation’ (ahem, training) manager at a client’s office, and on another occasion told someone about the unthinkable scenario I had to face at a certain ‘agency’ (that would be, branch) of my bank. Although these slips have been rare, they give me pause. If my vocabulary is starting to go, what’s next?
The answer to that question lies in certain ubiquitous expressions the French use in English that, while not incorrect, are just a little off. “Normally” is in heavy rotation. For example: How do you like your coffee? “I normally take my coffee with no milk.” How do you get to the Louvre? “Normally, you should exit the Metro and turn on the third street on your left.” Well, normally, Anglos would say ‘usually’ or ‘generally.’ The usage doesn’t mangle the speaker’s meaning, but it’s just different enough. It sometimes slips into my speech when I explain how to use a certain verb tense: “Normally, we use present perfect for actions that…(etc).”
Whenever a French person wishes to confirm something, they’ll undoubtedly say, “It’s OK for me.” Can you meet next Tuesday at 10:00? “It’s OK for me.” Do you mind picking me up from work today? “Yes, it’s OK for me.” While the sentence seems innocuous, it’s not something native English speakers would actually say. Those questions would probably be answered with, “That works for me” or “No problem.” What does being OK have to do with it? But lo and behold, after reading a difficult passage in an article during an English lesson, I’ve started asking students, “Did you understand that? Is it OK for you?” Gah! It makes me cringe a little every time.
But the most amusing offender (if we can call it that) is the standard phrase used to express a positive opinion. Should abortion be legal in Catholic countries? “Yes, why not?” If you find a wallet on the street containing a large sum of money, but no identification, is it justifiable to keep it? “Yes, why not?” This response suggests a rather flippant attitude toward the controversies at hand. We’re not dealing with whether we should choose a Burgundy rather than a Bordeaux. Even though I’m quite accustomed to receiving it as an answer to most opinion-based questions, it still makes me snigger inside every time I hear it. And while I’ve actually never inadvertently used the expression in English, whenever I use its equivalent pourquoi pas? in French, I crack up a little bit, leaving the French person I’m talking to slightly perplexed.
Idioms and slang are two components of my English that have remained, thankfully, 100% intact—which doesn’t make it any less funny when I hear my dear students make verbal guacamole of certain English expressions. The most recent parade of hits include “It is just the small part of the iceberg” and “It isn’t written in the rock.” Fabulous. There’s also the student who commiserated with me over getting sunburns: “I cannot support the sun.” (I know—its policies on immigration are way over the line. It’s not getting my vote this year!) Or take my sexagenarian student who laments the fact that she never speaks English with her British husband, but said when they met, she “was attracted by his English tongue.” Uh…TMI?
The best is when a student has clearly used a translation engine in order to write an email in English. I tell my students again and again that those engines never work, but it doesn’t prevent people from using them anyway—to hilarious effect. I received a real head-scratcher from a student with whom I was trying to schedule lessons. She wrote:
Even if Frenglish has started pecking away at my own English, even if my students’ verbal blunders keep me on my toes, and even if I do sometimes stoop to the level of discreet mockery, I still find all of these linguistic slips quite endearing. It’s OK for me.
Let’s take a journey through what could be a typical conversation on the job (sans teacherly interjections to correct any mistakes):
Me: Can you recommend a good restaurant?
Student: Yes. I am happy to give you the good address. Can you precise me the cuisine you want?
Me: A bistro would be great.
Student: I propose you a bistro, not so touristic, in the first arrondisement. He has very typic French cooking. I suggest you also a sympatic wine bar, not expensive, on the same street. There is a very funny atmosphere.
Me: What are some of the bistro’s specialties?
Student: I always choice the confit de canard. It’s very tasty. And they have sorbets of many unusual perfumes.
Me: Great. And where is it located?
Student: I explain you how to go there. But can you say me your nearest Metro station?
Me: (Give the details)
Student: (Gives directions). And those are all the infos you need to know. Please say me how was your meal. I am very interesting in your feedbacks.
You’ve no doubt noticed what appear to be glaring English errors—but these are mostly instances of the French imposing their own grammar and vocabulary on English. I hear “I propose you…I explain you…I suggest you…I confirm you…” countless times, but that’s just French grammar rearing its head. Say vs. tell is a natural point of confusion. The expression le bon addresse is the French way of saying ‘a great place to go.’ Calling a restaurant “he”? All nouns have genders in French. You can probably guess what 'touristic' and 'typic' should be. 'Sympatic' is derived from sympatique, the French word for nice. Perfume translates to parfum, which could be Chanel No. 5 or a flavor. Info and feedback are always singular in English, but countable in French. Owing to phonological similarity, “choice” and “choose” are frequently confused (my husband got an email from a work event organizer requesting him to “choice his lunch”). In addition, many people don’t realize there’s a distinction between funny and fun; rather, the word funny is used as a catchall, as is done in French. But “I am very interesting” is just a bald-faced mistake, with no language-transfer justification. (I get a kick out of explaining to my students that starting off a sentence that way can cause the false perception that they have highly-inflated senses of self.)
Needless to say, these typical errors are so commonplace that I’ve taken to jokingly using them in my home life, far away from the burning ears of my students. (I know, it’s bad.) I will ask my husband to propose me what he’d like to eat for dinner or to look up infos on the train schedule for our next vacation destination. He’s right there with me, responding in kind, as he hears these same errors every day at his office. The thing is, it’s like the old warning parents give children: if you keep making those faces, one day, they’ll stick. Yes folks, my English skills are starting to deteriorate. Ruh roh.
Let’s go in further depth with Frenglish to show you just how far the rabbit hole things have fallen.
False friends. That’s what the French call English words that appear to have French equivalents, but in reality have different meanings altogether, or no meaning at all. I constantly have to correct my students’ use of these phonies, explaining that people work at companies, not societies; that getting into car accidents can hurt people, not bless them; and that a business can be profitable, not rentable. At a shop, an employee—in an effort to practice his English—asked me if I had any money, because he “have not money.” It seems like a rather obvious, albeit bizarre, question to a customer, right? What he meant was, he was out of small change (in French, monnaie), so did I have any I could pay with? My all-time favorite: a student once said that a certain solution wouldn’t be very “sweatable” (the French souhaitable, sounds just like it if said Anglo style, but it means desirable). It’s all very funny until false friends come unintentionally tumbling out of your own mouth. I once complained to a colleague about the poor organization skills of a ‘formation’ (ahem, training) manager at a client’s office, and on another occasion told someone about the unthinkable scenario I had to face at a certain ‘agency’ (that would be, branch) of my bank. Although these slips have been rare, they give me pause. If my vocabulary is starting to go, what’s next?
The answer to that question lies in certain ubiquitous expressions the French use in English that, while not incorrect, are just a little off. “Normally” is in heavy rotation. For example: How do you like your coffee? “I normally take my coffee with no milk.” How do you get to the Louvre? “Normally, you should exit the Metro and turn on the third street on your left.” Well, normally, Anglos would say ‘usually’ or ‘generally.’ The usage doesn’t mangle the speaker’s meaning, but it’s just different enough. It sometimes slips into my speech when I explain how to use a certain verb tense: “Normally, we use present perfect for actions that…(etc).”
Whenever a French person wishes to confirm something, they’ll undoubtedly say, “It’s OK for me.” Can you meet next Tuesday at 10:00? “It’s OK for me.” Do you mind picking me up from work today? “Yes, it’s OK for me.” While the sentence seems innocuous, it’s not something native English speakers would actually say. Those questions would probably be answered with, “That works for me” or “No problem.” What does being OK have to do with it? But lo and behold, after reading a difficult passage in an article during an English lesson, I’ve started asking students, “Did you understand that? Is it OK for you?” Gah! It makes me cringe a little every time.
But the most amusing offender (if we can call it that) is the standard phrase used to express a positive opinion. Should abortion be legal in Catholic countries? “Yes, why not?” If you find a wallet on the street containing a large sum of money, but no identification, is it justifiable to keep it? “Yes, why not?” This response suggests a rather flippant attitude toward the controversies at hand. We’re not dealing with whether we should choose a Burgundy rather than a Bordeaux. Even though I’m quite accustomed to receiving it as an answer to most opinion-based questions, it still makes me snigger inside every time I hear it. And while I’ve actually never inadvertently used the expression in English, whenever I use its equivalent pourquoi pas? in French, I crack up a little bit, leaving the French person I’m talking to slightly perplexed.
Idioms and slang are two components of my English that have remained, thankfully, 100% intact—which doesn’t make it any less funny when I hear my dear students make verbal guacamole of certain English expressions. The most recent parade of hits include “It is just the small part of the iceberg” and “It isn’t written in the rock.” Fabulous. There’s also the student who commiserated with me over getting sunburns: “I cannot support the sun.” (I know—its policies on immigration are way over the line. It’s not getting my vote this year!) Or take my sexagenarian student who laments the fact that she never speaks English with her British husband, but said when they met, she “was attracted by his English tongue.” Uh…TMI?
The best is when a student has clearly used a translation engine in order to write an email in English. I tell my students again and again that those engines never work, but it doesn’t prevent people from using them anyway—to hilarious effect. I received a real head-scratcher from a student with whom I was trying to schedule lessons. She wrote:
“I am going to try but sometimes with transport I have difficulty in being there at 9:00 am. If it is your only schedule disponnible roaches. When think of courting you, because I have to try to find a room what is not always easy.”OK, we can overlook some of the grammar. And disponible means available in French. But “disponnible roaches”? Who invited them to the lesson? And who’s trying to “court” me—is this the 19th century? Please tell me it’s not the roaches, however available they may be.
Even if Frenglish has started pecking away at my own English, even if my students’ verbal blunders keep me on my toes, and even if I do sometimes stoop to the level of discreet mockery, I still find all of these linguistic slips quite endearing. It’s OK for me.
16 May 2008
On n'a pas besoin d'education
I’ve heard for a long time that the French education system is superior to America’s, and after 9 months of living here, I have gleaned some solid evidence to support this claim: people are well-read, spout off world history like it’s no one’s business, and engage in the art of debate for pleasure’s sake. Get an average American to locate Canada on a map and, well, we have gaffes the like of fourth grade teachers caught on Jay Leno who can’t. Touché. But on further examination (and lots of prodding on my part to discuss matters with my French students and friends), I’ve learned that despite its graduates’ shiny intello façades, the French education system isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.
Yesterday’s teachers’ strike really drove one of the causal issues home. Prez Sarkozy had announced plans to cut teaching jobs due to lack of funding. Do more with less – sounds familiar to a former American public school teacher who knows all too well the consequences of limited financing: layoffs, overcrowded classrooms, ancient tech equipment, and the list goes on. But these glaring similarities between the two countries aside, France’s schools aren’t helped by the age-old French pattern of politician proposes reform, groups X, Y, and Z don’t like it, said groups go on strike, and politician relents. It’s a vicious cycle that has daunted many administrations past and one that the electorate hoped to break by putting Sarkozy, who promised sweeping reforms, into office last May. So far, Sarkozy hasn’t made much headway, but given his four remaining years in office, he can still turn over a new leaf, starting with the demonstrating teachers.
You’d think that right about now I’d be starting a vicious rant about the sacrilege of cutting teaching jobs. However, the dirty truth is that some teaching jobs DO need to be cut in this country, but not for the reasons you’d expect. Unlike in America, there is a glut of teachers in France, but many of them aren’t teaching. They’re living on the dole while on lengthy maternity leaves (bravo) or sick leaves (boo) – many of the latter aren’t even legit. (Apparently they can go on sick leave if they feel overstressed. Um, name me ONE teacher who isn’t severely overstressed at times.) And the taxpayers provide these non-working teachers with a livable salary. See, this is where I scare myself because I start to sound like a right-winger. In France, I practically am dangerously close to being one! (In order to calibrate between the two countries, just shift American views to the right and you have your French equivalent. The French left would be considered radical socialist in America, the French center is our left, and the French right wing spans conservatives of the just-fiscal variety all the way to the Bible-thumpers.) Back to the point, more people in France actually do oppose the all-too-familiar vicious cycle scenario described above and do want the big changes Sarko promised – more than we think. But how can a country make progress when too many others game the system or freak out when one small thing is taken away from them, in the name of utilitarianism? Isn’t that what socialism is supposed to be about, the common good?
Another big issue with French education is that academia is destiny. The notion of a liberal arts college education doesn’t exist here. When you apply to college in France, you must select your professional field. High school seniors apply to science college, business college, social sciences college, engineering college, etc, essentially locking themselves into their chosen métier for life. Because it’s darn near impossible to change careers. Yes, you can change roles within a field, but once you’ve chosen a field there’s no American-style late-20’s/early-30’s crisis of “this isn’t what I really want to do, so I’ll just become a...” (insert new career path here), unless you go back to square zero and get another bachelor's-level degree and then some. It isn’t all that shocking then, that 46% of French first-year undergrads drop out of college. Or that tons of adults feel trapped in jobs they hate. I teach several of such people. The same people who look at me like I’ve just landed from Mars when I tell them I’ve had two very different careers – especially since a lot of folks think at first glance that I’m, like, 25 (maybe it’s the freckles). Anyhow, the situation is so fatalistic and depressing and suddenly the idea of coughing up gobs and gobs of money for an American bachelor’s degree doesn’t seem as crazy as it once did.
There’s so much more to say, but I feel like I could dedicate a five-page essay to this topic and it’s Friday night and I want to step out and this is really shaping up to be quite the run-on sentence (thank you, American education system). Granted, I’ve only done a quickie armchair analysis of the situation, so I’d be really interested to hear what my French readership (if you’re out there) have to say. Les français, n'hesitez pas de commenter!
Yesterday’s teachers’ strike really drove one of the causal issues home. Prez Sarkozy had announced plans to cut teaching jobs due to lack of funding. Do more with less – sounds familiar to a former American public school teacher who knows all too well the consequences of limited financing: layoffs, overcrowded classrooms, ancient tech equipment, and the list goes on. But these glaring similarities between the two countries aside, France’s schools aren’t helped by the age-old French pattern of politician proposes reform, groups X, Y, and Z don’t like it, said groups go on strike, and politician relents. It’s a vicious cycle that has daunted many administrations past and one that the electorate hoped to break by putting Sarkozy, who promised sweeping reforms, into office last May. So far, Sarkozy hasn’t made much headway, but given his four remaining years in office, he can still turn over a new leaf, starting with the demonstrating teachers.
You’d think that right about now I’d be starting a vicious rant about the sacrilege of cutting teaching jobs. However, the dirty truth is that some teaching jobs DO need to be cut in this country, but not for the reasons you’d expect. Unlike in America, there is a glut of teachers in France, but many of them aren’t teaching. They’re living on the dole while on lengthy maternity leaves (bravo) or sick leaves (boo) – many of the latter aren’t even legit. (Apparently they can go on sick leave if they feel overstressed. Um, name me ONE teacher who isn’t severely overstressed at times.) And the taxpayers provide these non-working teachers with a livable salary. See, this is where I scare myself because I start to sound like a right-winger. In France, I practically am dangerously close to being one! (In order to calibrate between the two countries, just shift American views to the right and you have your French equivalent. The French left would be considered radical socialist in America, the French center is our left, and the French right wing spans conservatives of the just-fiscal variety all the way to the Bible-thumpers.) Back to the point, more people in France actually do oppose the all-too-familiar vicious cycle scenario described above and do want the big changes Sarko promised – more than we think. But how can a country make progress when too many others game the system or freak out when one small thing is taken away from them, in the name of utilitarianism? Isn’t that what socialism is supposed to be about, the common good?
Another big issue with French education is that academia is destiny. The notion of a liberal arts college education doesn’t exist here. When you apply to college in France, you must select your professional field. High school seniors apply to science college, business college, social sciences college, engineering college, etc, essentially locking themselves into their chosen métier for life. Because it’s darn near impossible to change careers. Yes, you can change roles within a field, but once you’ve chosen a field there’s no American-style late-20’s/early-30’s crisis of “this isn’t what I really want to do, so I’ll just become a...” (insert new career path here), unless you go back to square zero and get another bachelor's-level degree and then some. It isn’t all that shocking then, that 46% of French first-year undergrads drop out of college. Or that tons of adults feel trapped in jobs they hate. I teach several of such people. The same people who look at me like I’ve just landed from Mars when I tell them I’ve had two very different careers – especially since a lot of folks think at first glance that I’m, like, 25 (maybe it’s the freckles). Anyhow, the situation is so fatalistic and depressing and suddenly the idea of coughing up gobs and gobs of money for an American bachelor’s degree doesn’t seem as crazy as it once did.
There’s so much more to say, but I feel like I could dedicate a five-page essay to this topic and it’s Friday night and I want to step out and this is really shaping up to be quite the run-on sentence (thank you, American education system). Granted, I’ve only done a quickie armchair analysis of the situation, so I’d be really interested to hear what my French readership (if you’re out there) have to say. Les français, n'hesitez pas de commenter!
03 December 2007
The Little Moments That Bring Smiles to My Workday
While I strive to weave humor into most lessons I teach, sometimes I inadvertently strike comedy gold. My source? The students themselves. Here is my first-ever greatest hits collection, compiled over 3 months of teaching English to the French. I’ll definitely add new installments in the future, as the parade of hits is sure to continue in 2008.
[Disclaimer: I’m aware of the irony that I’m affectionately mocking my language students, when I, too, am currently a language student who has made her French teacher laugh on occasion at my knowingly atrocious errors. At the end of the day, it’s all about being able to laugh at yourself...and, of course, at everyone else.]
When Pronunciation Gets in the Way #1
Me (to determine who in the group will go first in a game): I’m thinking of a number between 1 and 10. Whoever guesses it or a number closest to it will go first.
Student A: Four.
Student B: Sex.
Me (in my head): Bwahahahahaha.
When Proununciation Gets in the Way #2
I’d just reviewed present simple tense with a lower-level student. She was doing quick oral conjugation drills of random verbs I’d task her with.
Me: Talk
Student: I talk, you talk, he talks, she talks…(you get the picture)
Me: Sit
Student: I sit, you sit, he sits, she shits, we shits…
Me, trying not to lose it and chastising myself for reacting like a 12-year-old
Oh, Waiter…
I was working on a Dining Out language unit with a group of lower students (they loved it) and we played a game in which the game board had various restaurant-based communication tasks. One student lands on the ‘Ask your waiter for the bill’ square. Keep in mind this student is a petite and effete French male with fabulous mannerisms.
Student (oh so enthusiastically, but with a hint of ‘tude): Oh, BOY!! The bill, please.
I then had to explain to him (more euphemistically than what follows, of course) that even though the French may call their waiters ‘garcons’ (boys), we DO NOT do this in Anglophone countries – unless we want to get our asses kicked or get serious b*#%h-face.
Cannibalism is SO in This Year
While teaching a group how to formulate basic questions, I had them pretend they were interviewing each other as potential roommates. I supported them with several pre-fab sentence stems, but then they had to come up with original questions.
Student: Who do you cook for dinner?
Me (unable to stop myself from cracking up): So, you eat people, do you?
Man, My Hangover Is, Like, So Heavy
OK, so this wasn’t from a student, but it was from one of Nate’s French co-workers with whom we were coordinating dinner plans over email.
N’s Coworker: Can we meet later than 8:30? We are going to a party the night before, so we might carry a hangover.
Idiom Gone Awry
While teaching a workshop on presentations, I was reviewing language for closing the talk (e.g., So to wrap things up…, In conclusion…, etc.). One student suddenly perked up and got excited.
Student: Ooh, I know another good one!
Me: Great! Let’s add it to our list. What is it?
Student (enthusiastically): ‘To put the nut into the shell.’
Me: Uh, well, in reality the expression is a bit different…
[Not to mention, it’s not a necessarily appropriate expression for concluding a presentation!]
Fatchy Pog
Students always get bubbly when they learn I’m from New York and San Francisco (so much more interesting to talk about than, say, Duluth). They love talking about past visits to these cities or at least reciting everything they know about them. One student got especially excited when he discovered my SF past.
Student: San Francisco! Oh yes! I hear they have a lot of frog.
[No, he wasn’t referring to the city’s sizable French population. He just threw in an “R” where it didn’t belong.]
Which Travel Guides Have You Been Reading?
Speaking of US cities and their attractions…Students and I were discussing taxation in France vs. the US. They were blown away by the 8.25% rate in California – a mere pittance compared to the French 18% sales tax. They inquired if that was a flat rate across the US, so then I explained the system of state/local sales tax.
Student A: Is there places where the tax is high and in other places it is low? [Poor grammar, yes, but they’re on a lower level and grammar ain’t the punchline.]
Me: Yes, certain states and especially certain cities are more expensive places to live, partially because of the sales tax. For example, New York, California, etc.
Student B: Yes, yes, of course. But not…(he thinks for a moment)…not Nashville!
Me (smirking and already starting to wish I could somehow vodcast the scene to Blaire and Whit): No, not Nashville, you’re right.
Student B (giggling a little): Nothing is in Nashville.
Me (also giggling): I’ll have to tell my friends who live there that you said that.
Student B: Nothing in Nashville…(he thinks for a moment)…OH!!! No, there is the home of Elvis!
Me: Uh, Graceland? That’s near Memphis. Same state, different city.
Student B: Oh (dejectedly)…(he thinks for a moment)…OH!!! (brightening) Nashville is home of the blues (proudly)!
Me: Uh, that’s also Memphis.
Student A: Bwahahahahahaha…
Student C: Nashville, it’s for country music!
Student B: OH! Yes! Country! Hank Williams!
[Pfew, he finally got one fact straight.]
Prepositions Have Never Been Sexier
I’d been reviewing phrasal verbs with an intermediate class, with “to turn to” among my list of high-frequency business phrases (e.g. To turn to another point…). One student just could not get that one right and kept coming up with better and better variations.
Variation #1: To turn it on…
Me: That means you want to operate electricity, a machine, a gadget.
Student laughs, slightly embarrassed in front of the group.
Variation #2: To turn on you…
Me: That means you want to betray us.
Student laughs, group laughs even harder and starts teasing the guy about his traitorous intentions.
Variation #3: To turn you on…
Me: Um, that’s something you should never, ever say, especially to an American colleague, because then you’ll probably get sued for sexual harassment (the French love talking about how prudish and litigious we are when it comes to that stuff).
Group: Huh?
Me (really not wanting to get into the sticky areas of the phrases ‘hit on’ and especially not ‘come-on’): Let’s just say it’s better for the bedroom and not the boardroom (inwardly groaning at my terrible one-liner, while the students eat it up).
[Disclaimer: I’m aware of the irony that I’m affectionately mocking my language students, when I, too, am currently a language student who has made her French teacher laugh on occasion at my knowingly atrocious errors. At the end of the day, it’s all about being able to laugh at yourself...and, of course, at everyone else.]
When Pronunciation Gets in the Way #1
Me (to determine who in the group will go first in a game): I’m thinking of a number between 1 and 10. Whoever guesses it or a number closest to it will go first.
Student A: Four.
Student B: Sex.
Me (in my head): Bwahahahahaha.
When Proununciation Gets in the Way #2
I’d just reviewed present simple tense with a lower-level student. She was doing quick oral conjugation drills of random verbs I’d task her with.
Me: Talk
Student: I talk, you talk, he talks, she talks…(you get the picture)
Me: Sit
Student: I sit, you sit, he sits, she shits, we shits…
Me, trying not to lose it and chastising myself for reacting like a 12-year-old
Oh, Waiter…
I was working on a Dining Out language unit with a group of lower students (they loved it) and we played a game in which the game board had various restaurant-based communication tasks. One student lands on the ‘Ask your waiter for the bill’ square. Keep in mind this student is a petite and effete French male with fabulous mannerisms.
Student (oh so enthusiastically, but with a hint of ‘tude): Oh, BOY!! The bill, please.
I then had to explain to him (more euphemistically than what follows, of course) that even though the French may call their waiters ‘garcons’ (boys), we DO NOT do this in Anglophone countries – unless we want to get our asses kicked or get serious b*#%h-face.
Cannibalism is SO in This Year
While teaching a group how to formulate basic questions, I had them pretend they were interviewing each other as potential roommates. I supported them with several pre-fab sentence stems, but then they had to come up with original questions.
Student: Who do you cook for dinner?
Me (unable to stop myself from cracking up): So, you eat people, do you?
Man, My Hangover Is, Like, So Heavy
OK, so this wasn’t from a student, but it was from one of Nate’s French co-workers with whom we were coordinating dinner plans over email.
N’s Coworker: Can we meet later than 8:30? We are going to a party the night before, so we might carry a hangover.
Idiom Gone Awry
While teaching a workshop on presentations, I was reviewing language for closing the talk (e.g., So to wrap things up…, In conclusion…, etc.). One student suddenly perked up and got excited.
Student: Ooh, I know another good one!
Me: Great! Let’s add it to our list. What is it?
Student (enthusiastically): ‘To put the nut into the shell.’
Me: Uh, well, in reality the expression is a bit different…
[Not to mention, it’s not a necessarily appropriate expression for concluding a presentation!]
Fatchy Pog
Students always get bubbly when they learn I’m from New York and San Francisco (so much more interesting to talk about than, say, Duluth). They love talking about past visits to these cities or at least reciting everything they know about them. One student got especially excited when he discovered my SF past.
Student: San Francisco! Oh yes! I hear they have a lot of frog.
[No, he wasn’t referring to the city’s sizable French population. He just threw in an “R” where it didn’t belong.]
Which Travel Guides Have You Been Reading?
Speaking of US cities and their attractions…Students and I were discussing taxation in France vs. the US. They were blown away by the 8.25% rate in California – a mere pittance compared to the French 18% sales tax. They inquired if that was a flat rate across the US, so then I explained the system of state/local sales tax.
Student A: Is there places where the tax is high and in other places it is low? [Poor grammar, yes, but they’re on a lower level and grammar ain’t the punchline.]
Me: Yes, certain states and especially certain cities are more expensive places to live, partially because of the sales tax. For example, New York, California, etc.
Student B: Yes, yes, of course. But not…(he thinks for a moment)…not Nashville!
Me (smirking and already starting to wish I could somehow vodcast the scene to Blaire and Whit): No, not Nashville, you’re right.
Student B (giggling a little): Nothing is in Nashville.
Me (also giggling): I’ll have to tell my friends who live there that you said that.
Student B: Nothing in Nashville…(he thinks for a moment)…OH!!! No, there is the home of Elvis!
Me: Uh, Graceland? That’s near Memphis. Same state, different city.
Student B: Oh (dejectedly)…(he thinks for a moment)…OH!!! (brightening) Nashville is home of the blues (proudly)!
Me: Uh, that’s also Memphis.
Student A: Bwahahahahahaha…
Student C: Nashville, it’s for country music!
Student B: OH! Yes! Country! Hank Williams!
[Pfew, he finally got one fact straight.]
Prepositions Have Never Been Sexier
I’d been reviewing phrasal verbs with an intermediate class, with “to turn to” among my list of high-frequency business phrases (e.g. To turn to another point…). One student just could not get that one right and kept coming up with better and better variations.
Variation #1: To turn it on…
Me: That means you want to operate electricity, a machine, a gadget.
Student laughs, slightly embarrassed in front of the group.
Variation #2: To turn on you…
Me: That means you want to betray us.
Student laughs, group laughs even harder and starts teasing the guy about his traitorous intentions.
Variation #3: To turn you on…
Me: Um, that’s something you should never, ever say, especially to an American colleague, because then you’ll probably get sued for sexual harassment (the French love talking about how prudish and litigious we are when it comes to that stuff).
Group: Huh?
Me (really not wanting to get into the sticky areas of the phrases ‘hit on’ and especially not ‘come-on’): Let’s just say it’s better for the bedroom and not the boardroom (inwardly groaning at my terrible one-liner, while the students eat it up).
02 October 2007
Sounding Off
Teaching English as a language has been eye- (and ear-) opening in many ways. It makes you realize how much you take for granted as a native speaker. One thing I’ve realized is that Americans (especially in certain regions) tend to blur words together and soften consonant sounds more often than other native English speakers. Many of my students are petrified of the notorious Texas drawl. One even feels that it’s harder to understand Texans than Indians. They probably haven’t dealt with the likes of authentic New Yorkers, or New Jerseyites (?) for that matter. If they had to, “The Sopranos” would be an unlikely yet fairly helpful teaching tool. I may have never developed a true New Yawk accent, but I’ve become more conscious than ever that I pronounce many of my t’s as d’s and I shorten some vowel sounds, so I’ve had to work hard on EEnunciaTing. Would Tony S. or Dubya, for that matter, fare as well?
Speaking of sounding things out, I taught the alphabet to a beginner today and boy, was it an exercise in confusion. Consonants aren’t a huge stretch, but many vowel sounds are wildly different. The English “A” sound doesn’t exist in French. The French “I” is pronounced the same way as the English “E;” the French “E” is pronounced similarly to the English “uh” sound. The poor guy was in a panic when I had him spell words I was dictating. Thank goodness “O” and “U” are close enough between the two languages, or he might have passed out. This was just the tip of the iceberg, as we haven’t even moved past the most basic long vowel sounds in English. Butter, milk, eggs, apples, sauce, etc. – oh, it’s gonna be a bloodbath. (I must be hungry, because those were the first words that popped into my head.)
Idioms have been another particular challenge. Native speakers forget that although these turns of phrase seem simple enough to one another, they can send even an advanced language learner into a spiral of confusion. “Step it up,” “in the loop,” “work it out”…these, among others, have slipped out during instruction. Explaining the meaning of an idiom is harder than you think, what with the need to break it down into the simplest words possible. It’s kind of like playing Taboo (my fave game, by the way) – there are some words you just can’t ever use and you still have to get someone to comprehend exactly what you mean to say.
On the flipside, I’ve noticed some idiosyncrasies of French utterances. They tend to make certain sounds that I’ve never noticed before among the Frenchies I’ve been long acquainted with. I’m wishing I had audio-recording capabilities right about now, but I’ll attempt to articulate these sounds anyway. One is akin to a sharp intake of breath, like the sound you’d make if you were suddenly startled – but not as strong and not with a connotation of shock. It seems to be used more as a nervous almost-laugh. And I’ve heard it most frequently from older people; not sure how to explain that. The other sound is the ever-popular noise the people here make to express “Who knows?” or “I don’t have a damn clue.” The more uncouth of the population produce a ripping-fart sound, while the more elegant make a kind of air-popping fart sound. Either you’re laughing right now or you can’t at all imagine what I’m talking about, but believe me when I say that by the end of my first week here, I was ready to MURDER the next person I heard do it. It was driving me crazy. At this point, I’ve resigned myself to its ubiquity. One of my classes recently served as a therapy session for dealing with this French-fart-sound hang-up. My students were taking a practice test for a Business English exam they’re taking this spring, and they were so stumped by one section of the test that the classroom was a veritable chorus of this sound. I realized then there was no escaping it…but though I can’t beat it, I am by no means joining it. Oh, hell no. Sorry, people, fart noises are for the bathroom or the armpit hijinks of 12-year-old boys.
And now for the interactive portion of this blog: What sounds do Americans make that can be perceived as bizarre or ridiculous? Post a comment with your ideas.
Speaking of sounding things out, I taught the alphabet to a beginner today and boy, was it an exercise in confusion. Consonants aren’t a huge stretch, but many vowel sounds are wildly different. The English “A” sound doesn’t exist in French. The French “I” is pronounced the same way as the English “E;” the French “E” is pronounced similarly to the English “uh” sound. The poor guy was in a panic when I had him spell words I was dictating. Thank goodness “O” and “U” are close enough between the two languages, or he might have passed out. This was just the tip of the iceberg, as we haven’t even moved past the most basic long vowel sounds in English. Butter, milk, eggs, apples, sauce, etc. – oh, it’s gonna be a bloodbath. (I must be hungry, because those were the first words that popped into my head.)
Idioms have been another particular challenge. Native speakers forget that although these turns of phrase seem simple enough to one another, they can send even an advanced language learner into a spiral of confusion. “Step it up,” “in the loop,” “work it out”…these, among others, have slipped out during instruction. Explaining the meaning of an idiom is harder than you think, what with the need to break it down into the simplest words possible. It’s kind of like playing Taboo (my fave game, by the way) – there are some words you just can’t ever use and you still have to get someone to comprehend exactly what you mean to say.
On the flipside, I’ve noticed some idiosyncrasies of French utterances. They tend to make certain sounds that I’ve never noticed before among the Frenchies I’ve been long acquainted with. I’m wishing I had audio-recording capabilities right about now, but I’ll attempt to articulate these sounds anyway. One is akin to a sharp intake of breath, like the sound you’d make if you were suddenly startled – but not as strong and not with a connotation of shock. It seems to be used more as a nervous almost-laugh. And I’ve heard it most frequently from older people; not sure how to explain that. The other sound is the ever-popular noise the people here make to express “Who knows?” or “I don’t have a damn clue.” The more uncouth of the population produce a ripping-fart sound, while the more elegant make a kind of air-popping fart sound. Either you’re laughing right now or you can’t at all imagine what I’m talking about, but believe me when I say that by the end of my first week here, I was ready to MURDER the next person I heard do it. It was driving me crazy. At this point, I’ve resigned myself to its ubiquity. One of my classes recently served as a therapy session for dealing with this French-fart-sound hang-up. My students were taking a practice test for a Business English exam they’re taking this spring, and they were so stumped by one section of the test that the classroom was a veritable chorus of this sound. I realized then there was no escaping it…but though I can’t beat it, I am by no means joining it. Oh, hell no. Sorry, people, fart noises are for the bathroom or the armpit hijinks of 12-year-old boys.
And now for the interactive portion of this blog: What sounds do Americans make that can be perceived as bizarre or ridiculous? Post a comment with your ideas.
18 September 2007
The New Gig: First Days
Two days into the new job, my sociological observations have so far taught me that the French have acquired whip-smart productivity in the work place. After my 9am class yesterday, one of my students mentioned she was then heading off to do exercise. “Is there a gym nearby?” I asked in French. “Mais, non!” she replied, as if that was the silliest thing I could have asked. “There is a gym here on the work site!” Oh, silly me, indeed. Morning coffee > two-hour language class > workout…What’s next, pottery and then mani-pedi, followed by baking class after which we eat our confections? As I said, whip-smart productivity.
Aside from growing green with envy over corporate summer camp, I’ve been overcome by the openness and warmth of my students. Gone are the affected adolescent apathy, stunna shades worn indoors, and phantom text-messaging menace of yore. My current students, ranging in ages from early 20’s to 50’s, are an eclectic bunch in terms of English skills, but are all united in their eagerness to learn the language. One student was so visibly happy to speak English, he was beaming. It was fun indulging this attitude with extended conversations on any topic at all, from travel to the French education system to homeopathic medicine. The latter happens to be a popular phenomenon in France, but I’ve been assured that it’s not quite as fanatical here as in California (glad to see the hippy-dippy liberal Marin hot-tubbing stereotype is alive and well). By the way, you know you’re dealing with sincerity when a chemist at a major pharmaceutical company advises you to try acupuncture instead of continuing your course of prescription allergy medication manufactured by said company.
During my full day of teaching at a company in the Paris ‘burbs, I felt like the new kid at school who everyone wants to befriend—well, everyone being the two middle-aged women and four young guys I ate lunch with at the company cafeteria. One of my students had kindly invited me to join her and some co-workers for lunch (I had an hour-long break between classes), and it quickly turned into a game of which language would reign supreme. Everyone wanted to hear about San Francisco, everyone wanted to know what I, as an American, think of France, and of course, everyone wanted to speak English. I, on the other hand, wanted to seize the opportunity to practice my French. They won me over with their enthusiasm for speaking my native language (not that my French vocab limitations had anything to do with it…English is mighty). One woman particularly took to me in an almost maternal way. She kept making sure I had everything I needed, plied me with coffee and chocolate, and confessed to me a rather moving bit of her personal history. She and her family tried to escape Vietnam as the war was ending, but during their journey, her husband, sisters, and parents all died on a treacherous boat ride. All alone, she made her way to France as a refugee and has been here ever since. Inspirational. Being a teacher has always been enriching, but being able to make these kinds of connections with people in a new country has added a wonderful new layer to my professional life.
Coming off a full day of teaching English as a language is a bit like disembarking from a long boat ride. Even though you’re back on solid ground, you still find yourself swaying to the gentle tide of speaking very sloooooooooooooowly and enunciating vvvvveeeeeerrrrrrrrry clearly. (I had to consciously stop myself from doing this, but at least I’m not one of those fools who, when faced with people not comprehending him, just repeats himself, only five decibels louder.) It’s also a bit disorienting exiting such an intense few hours of English instruction only to not hear one shred of English spoken around you. It was oddly comforting to overhear a young Canadian couple discussing this evening’s dinner plans on the RER ride back to Paris.
Aside from growing green with envy over corporate summer camp, I’ve been overcome by the openness and warmth of my students. Gone are the affected adolescent apathy, stunna shades worn indoors, and phantom text-messaging menace of yore. My current students, ranging in ages from early 20’s to 50’s, are an eclectic bunch in terms of English skills, but are all united in their eagerness to learn the language. One student was so visibly happy to speak English, he was beaming. It was fun indulging this attitude with extended conversations on any topic at all, from travel to the French education system to homeopathic medicine. The latter happens to be a popular phenomenon in France, but I’ve been assured that it’s not quite as fanatical here as in California (glad to see the hippy-dippy liberal Marin hot-tubbing stereotype is alive and well). By the way, you know you’re dealing with sincerity when a chemist at a major pharmaceutical company advises you to try acupuncture instead of continuing your course of prescription allergy medication manufactured by said company.
During my full day of teaching at a company in the Paris ‘burbs, I felt like the new kid at school who everyone wants to befriend—well, everyone being the two middle-aged women and four young guys I ate lunch with at the company cafeteria. One of my students had kindly invited me to join her and some co-workers for lunch (I had an hour-long break between classes), and it quickly turned into a game of which language would reign supreme. Everyone wanted to hear about San Francisco, everyone wanted to know what I, as an American, think of France, and of course, everyone wanted to speak English. I, on the other hand, wanted to seize the opportunity to practice my French. They won me over with their enthusiasm for speaking my native language (not that my French vocab limitations had anything to do with it…English is mighty). One woman particularly took to me in an almost maternal way. She kept making sure I had everything I needed, plied me with coffee and chocolate, and confessed to me a rather moving bit of her personal history. She and her family tried to escape Vietnam as the war was ending, but during their journey, her husband, sisters, and parents all died on a treacherous boat ride. All alone, she made her way to France as a refugee and has been here ever since. Inspirational. Being a teacher has always been enriching, but being able to make these kinds of connections with people in a new country has added a wonderful new layer to my professional life.
Coming off a full day of teaching English as a language is a bit like disembarking from a long boat ride. Even though you’re back on solid ground, you still find yourself swaying to the gentle tide of speaking very sloooooooooooooowly and enunciating vvvvveeeeeerrrrrrrrry clearly. (I had to consciously stop myself from doing this, but at least I’m not one of those fools who, when faced with people not comprehending him, just repeats himself, only five decibels louder.) It’s also a bit disorienting exiting such an intense few hours of English instruction only to not hear one shred of English spoken around you. It was oddly comforting to overhear a young Canadian couple discussing this evening’s dinner plans on the RER ride back to Paris.
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