School In France

To say that I was not pleased to learn that school carried on here in Paris would be to put it lightly. I was furious! The day came that we were all settled in the little house in de Grasse Vilaage and there was no more procrastinating. School was starting again.
It was still first grade but this time it was November and all the other students had already been learning since September.  The classroom looked a lot like the one in Laurel and smelled of sack lunches, school glue, and chalk.  I gagged.  My stomach hurt and I was beginning to feel tears forming in my eyes.  I blinked hard.  Everyone turned to see me standing in the doorway holding Mommy's hand. I would NOT cry.  I stared back.

Mommy smiled and the teacher smiled.  The teacher thanked my mother, took my hand  and led me to the front of the class. I turned back just in time to see Mommy leave the room. She abandoned me again. Just like back at the red brick  school in Laurel! I hardly had time to think about this outrage when, most remarkably,the teacher spoke, " Mes élèves, c'est Barbara, un nouvel élève. Dites-lui bonjour."

Huh? Shocked, I barely registered all the bonjours that boomed at me from the students!  I looked up in total panic at the teacher, still holding my hand. " It is okay, Barbara," she explained in English, "we speak French for part of our day here in the first grade.  You will learn quickly. The children are saying hello. Now take a seat and we will get back on schedule."

I Miss Grandma

I Really Miss Grandma

When we lived in the states, we used to go on weekend trips to West Virginia to visit my grandmother. In the summers, Rachael and I would stay with her for a week or two.  My mom did not get along with my grandmother because she was my dad's mom and not her mom.( or at least that is how Rachael explained it to me). So, when we'd go for the weekend, Rachael and I would stay with Grandma while Daddy and Mommy stayed in a motel.

Well, we had visited with Grandma just before we left to go to France.  They all told me that it would be three years before we'd see her again. It didn't seem too bad because it was always three somethings (weeks, months, etc.) before we saw her and, as a child, what did I know about time?

We'd crossed the oceans, taken a train through the countries, and set ourselves up in Paris, France. Enough time had passed that I thought it must be time to go to visit Grandma.  But you can't visit grandma from France.  In fact, I couldn't visit Grandma until I was nine years old!  While I didn't understand the explanations from earlier, I understood nine years old! Why that was forever!

I would not be consoled. Grandma had no telephone on the mountain at her house in West Virginia.  I couldn't call her. And even if she did have a telephone,Mommy said long distance calls cost more money than Daddy made at work for the army. I couldn't even write her a letter because I didn't know how to write yet. 

So far, France was awful! I wanted to go home. I wanted my Grandma!