For Thanksgiving, we took Amber to France and have stopped in to Chatillon Sur Seine to visit friends and force upon them American culture and our Thanksgiving traditions.
But instead of horrifying them and amazing them with our traditions and excess amounts of food, etc, they have thrown a curve ball at me.
Last night, as we were prepping to drive across the border to give Amber the really quaint version of France, I received this text.
“English teacher at Laura’s school wants you to give speech to English class about American Thanksgiving.”
Surely he was not asking for me to teach French kids anything. But then again, my dream of being a history teacher was about to come true.
“Sure, happy to do anything for the French.”
Fuck me. I had to re-learn the history of Thanksgiving. “We stole the land of the Natives, made them teach us how to cook and farm and then killed them,” didn’t seem quite appropriate to tell a bunch of twelve year old French kids.
“You eat a 20 pound turkey, eighty-three sides, nap and watch football and sometimes chop wood outside,” also didn’t seem appropriate.
What in the fuck was I going to tell these kids?
And then, after three glasses of wine, I was told, “Oh. The local newspaper will be there and you will have your picture in the paper.”
Well la dee mother fucking da. Famous in France now? Yep, that’s what I’m kinda feeling like. It’s not so shabby being an American novelty sometimes.
Alright. Gotta get back to playing Monsieur Patate.