Ma and Pa
I was born in the D.C. area and when I was 8 months old we moved overseas. My mother was a french major in college and subsequently a french teacher. Through IBM, my father had the opportunity to work in Paris. Apparently, my sentences were always mixed with french and English. My best friend and next door neighbor was Scottish, so I also learned a few of her colloquialisms.
Inevidebly my very first memories are from living in Paris. The one memory that always stands out, was the weekend my father was home cocking the window panes in my bedroom. For some reason, I found it endlessly fascinating. So fascinating in fact, that when my mother asked if I wanted to go to the market with her I said no. I attempted to help my father by picking up one of his tools, to which he growled, "don't touch that." Oh well, I decided since my father did not want my help I would go with my mother to the market. Unfortunately she had already left. Since I had walked with my mother to the market hundreds of times, I figured I would catch up with her.
Unlike American grocery stores where you do your shopping all in one, in Paris, you have to go to the butcher shop, the bakery and then there is your open air market where you can purchase all your fresh produce. In order for my four year old self to get to this market, I had to walk underground through the Parisian Metro system.
Once I arrived at the market my mother was no where in sight, apparently, she had stopped at the bakery beforehand and I had passed her. Dozens of french women surrounded me and asked me my name, but I knew better then to talk to strangers. Eventually, my mother spotted me and immediately took me home.
This is when I received my first spanking by my father's belt. (and I think now, why didn't he get spanked for not paying closer attention to where his child was?) Afterwards, my mother made me a nutella sandwich with sprinkles, I suppose because she felt guilty about my spanking, or maybe she wanted to appear as the nicer parent. Whichever, it didn't work.
Inevidebly my very first memories are from living in Paris. The one memory that always stands out, was the weekend my father was home cocking the window panes in my bedroom. For some reason, I found it endlessly fascinating. So fascinating in fact, that when my mother asked if I wanted to go to the market with her I said no. I attempted to help my father by picking up one of his tools, to which he growled, "don't touch that." Oh well, I decided since my father did not want my help I would go with my mother to the market. Unfortunately she had already left. Since I had walked with my mother to the market hundreds of times, I figured I would catch up with her.
Unlike American grocery stores where you do your shopping all in one, in Paris, you have to go to the butcher shop, the bakery and then there is your open air market where you can purchase all your fresh produce. In order for my four year old self to get to this market, I had to walk underground through the Parisian Metro system.
Once I arrived at the market my mother was no where in sight, apparently, she had stopped at the bakery beforehand and I had passed her. Dozens of french women surrounded me and asked me my name, but I knew better then to talk to strangers. Eventually, my mother spotted me and immediately took me home.
This is when I received my first spanking by my father's belt. (and I think now, why didn't he get spanked for not paying closer attention to where his child was?) Afterwards, my mother made me a nutella sandwich with sprinkles, I suppose because she felt guilty about my spanking, or maybe she wanted to appear as the nicer parent. Whichever, it didn't work.
posted by suzyqpatch at
8:52 PM
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