One of my art journal entries post reading Debra Ollivier's "Entre Nous"
My mother has always prized her French heritage. For years now, she's taken every imaginable opportunity available to inform others, “Well, I’m French, you know…” You see, her grandmother emigrated from
France. Although I didn’t realize it
as a child, Mom has always been a Francophile.
As a little girl, I
found my French connection to be quite fascinating (Of course, who wouldn't when told time and time again what a special thing it was?). As a typical run-of-the-mill teenager, sometimes at odds
with her mother, it was not so much, though.
Fast forward a
few years… This chick left the nest, began to mature and developed a love of history
(including my own). Many wonderful
new friends entered my life. Some of them, coincidentally, turned out to be Francophiles, too. Bit by bit, I began revealing to them, “Well, I’m French,
you know…” I enjoyed the new-found admiration this revelation generally seemed to bring me (smile).
These days, I
totally own it. I wear it on my
sleeve along with my pinkness!
Yes, I, too, am a Francophile!
I am fascinated by the culture, what seems to be an innate Parisian
knack for being fashionable, the language itself (although I can’t speak it!)
and just about everything else to do with France and being French.
Perhaps,
with maturity, comes a deeper value for one’s past. Maybe it’s simply due to the fact that, as I've begun to reclaim my
own authenticity, I’ve recaptured my childhood fascination for all things French.
One thing I can say is, “C'est la vie!” After
all, I’m French, you know? T.
