Cross-culture

Cross-training. That's my James, making the most of every situation. January 2012.

I've mentioned before how James is in a French immersion program in school. I love it! For half of every school day he hears and speaks only French. His math instruction is in French, too. It's amazing how much the students know. I really believe studying another language or a musical instrument (the reading of music is, after all, its own language), expands a child's mind for greater learning.

The last few weeks I've been able to "help" in the French classroom. Yes, please pause now to take your hands off the mouse or phone or whatever you use to read this, and make gigantic, slow-motion air quotes. Got it? "Help." I use the term help ever so loosely, because beyond junior high and high school courses, my real-life French usage totals about 37 minutes when I visited a castle in Germany and took a French-speaking tour because the line for one in English was too long. But nonetheless James' teacher picked up during student conferences (in which she interacts solely in French) that I understood what was going on, and asked me if I could help listen to students read. I understand far more French than I can speak, but I'm doing my best to follow the no-English rule, too. So I'll call my increasing pantomime skills just another cross-training benefit, non?

I love the how the two different teachers, French and English, work together to cover concepts. And oddly, a cross-over French word is what I thought of first when James brought home this English grammar worksheet: 

Here the object was to examine the list of words and circle the letter in the left box if an "s" is added to become plural; the right letter if an "es" is added. The circled letters became part of a code for the next section. Pay attention to #9. Oops. No biggie. 

Here's the zinger:

James told me he didn't get it. Good thing. Risqué can wait. 

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Remember James' classroom roast?

I don't blame you if you don't; these blog posts of mine are few and far between, and rarely timely.  The sad way James reacted to his letter made me wonder if he just doesn't get how funny he is! The poor guy is already supplying me with new material. One Sunday afternoon I was getting ready for my brother and sister-in-law to come for dinner. On a lark I decided to pull out the china. "So your brother's coming, huh?" James said as he sauntered in. "Trying to impress him?"

Another time he popped into the laundry room to ask if he and Elise could take Samuel to the playground. Wait, I said, I'd like to come too. "Why? You want to feel young again?"

After posting my James letter I asked you to guess which incident was most embarrassing to him. Was it the diaper change exchange in which he shouted, "Don't touch me! You're not my doctor!"?? That's what most everyone guessed, and actually what I would have, too, even though its status as my very favorite anecdote meant I HAD to include it.

But no! Revealing the bite marks on the stick of butter was what pained James the most. Who would have guessed?

Perhaps all of you picked up on the deeper meaning of why James's mix-up of mushrooms and marshmallows was so funny, you just weren't brave enough to admit it! But Circe was! I'm sharing her comment because it made me snort-giggle:

I love it! James must have been mad about either the rocks in the toilet or the diaper story. I'm interested in the mushroom story. Maybe you WERE roasting shrooms and are just trying to cover up your drug use. LOL! The second graders would have loved that. Maybe it's more of a story for red ribbon week. hee hee. Anyway, I thought your letter was perfect and highly entertaining. You could make it up to James at Arctic Circle, I bet! Good luck!


By the way, it was marshmallows. All marshmallows, all the time.