Yankee Pot Roast in France

My freshman year in high school I succumbed to peer pressure and signed up for French as my required two years of foreign language. I figured French was as good as any other foreign language and I didn't know it at the time but it would lead me to eating Yankee Pot Roast with six loud enthusiastic French people.

Half of my sophomore year was over and although New Years was only days behind me I was looking forward to summer. My best friend Susan had a pool and I'd be turning 16 and getting a car. Just when I thought the summer couldn't get any better my French teacher announced the school district had an opportunity for French students to go to France and take their "ESL" or technically "FSL" classes. How cool would it be to go to France for the summer? Susan's pool would be there next summer and I had the rest of my life to cruse around in a car.

I quickly began plotting how best to present this opportunity to my mom in a way that she would agree to let her 16-year-old go to another continent with a teacher from another school. Much to my surprise it was not as difficult as I'd imagined and after countless forms, an application for my passport and a few meetings at Central High with the supervising teacher I was all set to get on a plane with one teacher and 19 other students and head to France for two months.

The rest of the year passed in a blur as I planned my trip and asked my aunts for travel tips and packing strategies. Finally the moment arrived when my mom and I hugged good bye and I boarded a plane with 19 kids and one teacher that I didn't know very well to head off to a country I didn't know at all to sleep in a bed in the home of people I'd never met. The sense of adventure and adrenaline of heading out on my own (sort of) into the unknown was a high that quickly bottomed out.

As the plane took off in Atlanta headed for London I began to dawn on me that I didn't speak French very well and struggled to pass the simplest of vocabulary tests for two years. I quickly pulled out my travel dictionary and flipped to the back where it had "Helpful Phrases" and set about memorizing as many of them as I was able.

There are two main things that I'm terrible at and will most likely be terrible at for the rest of my life - music and foreign languages. I can read music and I could read French somewhat and could comprehend some of what I heard but that was all. I can only conclude that I don't hear sounds properly - at least not well enough to reproduce them with any accuracy.... a needed skill when attempting to speak another language or play music/ sing. I must admit I felt a bit of panic as I realized this with the Atlantic Ocean below me and no turning back.

Having mastered "Hi my name is...", "What time is it?", "Where is the bathroom?", "I have a stomach ache" and "I'm allergic..." I was feeling way in over my head. I'm not allergic to anything in particular but I was schooled in French customs before I left and I knew they are offended by picky eaters and there was a laundry list of things I wouldn't eat. So I figured I could pass on things like tomatoes by saying I was allergic to them without causing offense.

The misery of a trans-Atlantic flight began to set it about about hour four. I didn't know any of the other high school students that were going as we were all from different high schools in the district. Some I clicked with and some were difficult to be around but all of them spoke French much better than I did and like most high school students took the opportunity of the flight to show off. I felt so lost. I was mad at the public school system that had let me get by completing and passing two years of French with B's and C's yet not know anything.

By the time we arrived in London my anger and fear had given way to exhaustion and dehydration I was no longer worried about speaking French as long as there was water and a bed at the end this trip. It felt like I'd been awake for days. Our teacher shuffled us along, speaking English (thank God!) Just when I thought the trip couldn't get any longer or terrible the teacher herded us to a small plane that I was certain couldn't hold all of us and our luggage. It was the smallest plane I'd ever seen and as the twenty of us settled, somewhat cramped, into our seats the pilot announced that Toulouse was another four hours away. I wanted to cry with exhaustion and nerves; at this point I was certain this was the worst idea of my life.

The small plane pitched and bounced for four hours as we flew south from London, over Paris and finally landed in Toulouse. After all the turbulence I had to add motion sickness to my list of reasons I couldn't possibly function long enough to exit the plane. I wondered if this was remotely like the ski lift and if I stayed on the plane would it take me back to Atlanta and my own bed? I was lost in my self pity and misery when the teacher announce that the families were waiting to pick us up and it was about 11:00 in the morning. My ears and fears perked up as she instructed us to get our luggage an line up against the fence once we got off the plane.

Riou". To my horror six people surged forward and began babbling in a language I was apparently suppose to know. I wanted to faint, I wanted to cry for my mom and most of all I wanted them to slow down and speak English.

My discomfort turned into feeling like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. The family was pushing and pulling me and my bags toward the smallest hatch-back car I'd ever seen, all six of them talking at me rapidly. Surely they had two cars or lived close enough that we could walk. An older gentleman managed to squeeze my luggage into the tiny space behind the back seat as the two adult women began grabbing and shoving around the three teenagers and myself in an attempt to find a way for us all to pile into the car. From the gestures and excited gibberish I gathered they decided against putting the younger looking boy in the hatch with my luggage - there wasn't room.

In the end I ended up with two kids and one of the ladies scrunched in the back seat. To this day I'll never know how four of us packed in back there or how the other three packed into the front seats of a tiny 5-speed hatch back. Then things got worse.... I'm allergic to cigarettes and evidently everyone in France smokes like a chimney. Before the car was even out of the parking lot three of them lit up and one was furiously shaking the pack at me... offering me one. I shook my head and said thought I said "no thank you." She reacted more like I'd said, "I'm going to refuse your offer of hospitality because I'm being polite but in fact I'm dying for a smoke." She said  no, no and pulled one out of the pack and put it in my hand, which I wouldn't have been able to get to my mouth anyway since we were so packed in. The to my chagrin the boy next to whips out a lighter and sparks it to life as the car whips through traffic as only Europeans can do.

At a loss for how to explain that I didn't smoke and didn't want to begin, I blurted out "I'm allergic" in was turned out to clear and perfect French. The lady in the front seat began shouting and snatching cigarettes out of the mouths of the other passengers and flinging them out the window. I felt terrible - I hadn't intended for them throw out their own cigarettes, I just didn't want one of my own.

We finally arrived at a small townhouse and everyone piled out of the car. My luggage was shuffled into the house and up the stairs and I was shuffled into a small tightly packed, dim dinning room. I was tired, and not feeling great from motion sickness and the last thing I wanted was to sit down to dinner. I wasn't sure I'd be able to eat anything anyway; I was suffering from lack of sleep and a severe case of culture shock. My one wish was that some spoke at least some English. I couldn't even figure out who my host family was out of the three adults and three kids.

My wish was granted when the boy about my age started speaking English very well. He pointed out his mom and explained that I'd be staying with the two of them and that the other couple and kids were his aunt and uncle and their kids. I felt relieved and a bit more connected to the world around me. All too soon we were seated around the table amid the noisy chatter of six French people speaking as loud and fast as possible. My head began to hurt and although my stomach growled, all I could think about was sleep and ending the noise and chatter around me. My host mother placed a huge piece of meat on the table surrounded by potatoes, carrots and tomatoes and kept repeating "Yankee Pot Roast" loudly. She began serving the meat and veggies.

A few minutes into dinner my fatigue began to slow as I couldn't find my appetite despite the fact that the dinner was good.  I felt even more terrible because obviously they'd invited family over to welcome me and she'd spent a good deal of time and money to cook a dinner that would be familiar to me and I wasn't playing my part very well at all but my eyes were itchy from lack of sleep, lack of water and too much cigarette smoke. Finally the host mom asked what was wrong through the translation of her son. I told him that I was very tired and I didn't feel well. With him as a translator his mom asked what was wrong, was there anything she could do? The son had trouble understanding "jet lag" and "motion sickness" (from the plane and car ride). Everyone was getting very concerned and I was clearly ruining dinner. Desperate to come up with something that would allow me to leave the table and go sleep I remembered a phrase from my book and blurred out that "I have a stomach ache."

What the "helpful phrases" book didn't tell was that this phrase carries more weight in France. Everyone at the table erupted in chatter and the older man dug the keys from his pocket and raced for the front door. The mother's face went white and I heard her shout Quick Quick and everyone jumped up. The son said they'd get me to the doctor quickly. I found myself in a panic to explain that I didn't need a doctor, just alot of sleep.

After much concern and fear on their part and much pleading and reassurance on mine - they finally showed me to my room where I promptly crashed and slept from 1:00 in the afternoon until 8:00 the next morning.

We had left-over pot roast for lunch the next day and I never saw the other family the rest of my stay - I guess they didn't want to catch my crazy American stomach troubles.

Why I don't Babysit

At the age of eleven I was pretty snotty and self-centered. I thought I knew it all, had it all and was blind to anything that pointed out the obvious flaw in my thinking. Being the youngest sibling and the youngest cousin of a tight-knit family it never occurred to me to be aware of or pay attention to little children. I never wanted to buy anything so badly that I'd volunteer to babysit for money. I'd clean, I'd do yard work and wash cars but I wanted nothing at all to do with children.

Despite my self-centered view I did like to help others - it made me feel good. As my mother can tell you I attracted every stray or hurt person within my sphere of influence throughout school. So one beautiful Sunday afternoon my do-gooder attitude unknowingly stepped up to the challenge of a lifetime (well, childhood). You see, there is always one strange house on the block. Ours just happened to be right across the street from me.

This house was the one that let the lawn get out of control and let the shutters hang lose. As the tyrant children we were, all of us brats would stand at the fence and wonder what would happen if one of us got lost in the backyard. Of course every strange house needs a strange occupant. The man who lived there was a little older than our parents which made him, in our eyes, an "old man." Some kids said he was ex-military, some said he was on the run from the mafia, but most likely he had a boring hum-drum job like our parents. We had to speculate in secret because our parents all chastised us for talking about him. They would say mundane things like, "he's a very nice man. Just because he keeps to himself doesn't make him strange." Who were they kidding?

One day Forever Friend and I were out riding bikes and we saw an old beat up station wagon pull into the drive way and a woman get out and let herself into the house. The buzz starting flying and within minutes a kid meeting was held in the "pit" (abandon lot) several doors down from my house. We all wondered who this mystery woman was. Some said it was his daughter, others said it had to be his girlfriend; as the mafia must have killed his first wife and children. We all wondered but we only caught rare glimpses of the woman who always looked haggard and upset.

This bright sunny Sunday afternoon I was chatting on the phone with Forever Friend who lived a few doors down. (Yes, we were pre-teen girls so talking on the phone was way cooler than visiting.) Forever Friend was about to spill the news about the New Kids on the Block gossip when the door bell rang. My mom called out for me to answer the door. Full of exasperation I told Forever Friend I'd call her back and went to get the door.

I skipped down the stairs and looked out the glass storm door to see the strange woman lived across the street staring back at me. She looked upset and panicked. I could hear Cute Boy Across the Street's voice, "maybe the maffia is after her too." in my head. I opened the door and in shock said, "Yes?" While the woman was explaining that she wanted me to babysit, my mom came up behind me and introduced herself. Apparently the woman had three children hidden away in the house. How creepy! Three kids that none of us in the neighborhood had seen! How was that possible! I looked at her wide-eyed as she explained that she just needed to run to the grocery store and back and that she was desperate for someone to watch the kids.

My mom, seeking to rectify some of the "misconceptions" we kids had about the house and the strange people living in it smiled and said, "I think that sounds like a good idea Paige, why don't you help our a neighbor?" I agreed knowing I couldn't pitch a fit right there with the woman watching. At least I'd get to see inside the house, maybe I'd find contraband of some kind even though I didn't really know what that meant. But I'd have news for the neighborhood kids for sure!

"What time would you like me to come over?" I asked as nicely as I could now that I was eager to get back to the gossip with Forever Friend (she thinks her mom got her tickets to see The New Kids on the Block). The woman replied that she needed me to come over right away. To my satisfaction, even my mom seemed a little surprised by the urgency of the woman's request.

"Um, ok." I said and went to put my shoes on. The woman waited on the porch for me. We walked across the street to the strange house and went inside. So far everything looked worn but pretty normal. We lived in an older, less flashy neighborhood compared to the ones that were springing up around us. Three blond girls sat like angels in front of the TV in the family room. There was a toddler of about two years, a five year old and a six or seven year old. The woman told me their names and assured me the oldest would help out with the baby. The woman wasted no time tearing out of the house and peeling off down the street in her beat up car.

The moment she was gone the angels turned to demons. The youngest cried uncontrollably and when I looked to her for help, the older girl just shrugged her shoulders. I picked up the wet, bubbling snotty child and lamely attempted to comfort her. Rolling my eyes I realized I was no good with babies and this was going to be a long afternoon....but I didn't know the half of it.

Once the baby started to quite down the middle child began screaming and running through the house for no apparent reason. She squealed and ran, her high voice ripping through my throbbing head. She had no response at all to my orders to be quite and sit down. It was about this time that I realized the older girl wasn't anywhere around let alone helping. I hear a crash from the kitchen so I carry the baby down the hallway dodging the other screaming, running child and enter the kitchen to see white and red powders spilled all over the floor. The oldest girl looks up at me with an evil smile and says, "Mommy lets me help do the laundry." Well that explained the white power on the floor but what was the red powder? I attempted to persuade her to wait until "mommy" got back from the store sure she was going to ignore me and carry on with her "helping".

To my surprise she shrugged her shoulders and announced she was going to color in the living room. The littlest one started squirming so I put her down and let her follow the oldest into the living room. The middle child, still running, trips going up the stairs and hits her head on the wall. If I thought her high-pitched laughs were bad it was nothing compared to the wailing that now filled the house. While I tried to comfort her she continued to wail. The oldest, unconcerned with the noise just turned up the volume on the TV to overcome the crying.

I convinced her to give up the foot race and sit with her sisters in the living room. I decided to clean up the mess in the kitchen. I found a broom and dust pan and began to sweep up the mess. It became clear that the red powder was Kool-Aid. The smell was sweet and as I swept it entered my nose and mouth. Just about the time I had most of the mess cleaned up I heard three evil laughs from the living room.

I wanted to run screaming; instead I went to the living room. I thought I would be killed for sure. The girls were coloring alright... all over the living room walls! Sad to say I lost my cool and had there been ropes, tape, bungee cords of any kinds I would have tied all of them to a dining room chair. Unfortunately there were no ropes or binding materials near by so I yelled that they were brats and that I was going to tell their mother everything they'd done when she got home. The oldest one tried to look contrite but being a kid myself I knew she was not sorry and didn't care a bit that I was going to tell her mother. I took the crayons and put them on the top shelf in the pantry.

Because I'd found the broom, I knew the location of a bucket. I put some soapy water in the bottom of the bucket and made the two older girls start scrubbing the walls. As they scrubbed I could see faint crayon marks that were much older than the ones created today so I was certain they'd done this before; at least the woman couldn't blame me. The oldest one said she was going to the bathroom and disappeared.

Yep, you guessed it. CRASH!!! While attempting to climb the racks in the pantry she'd pulled most of them down. The noise scared the middle girl who was still scrubbing the walls and she turned the soapy water over on the carpet. I didn't want to move, didn't want to care what happened in the pantry. The oldest girl arrived back in the living room caring the crayons and sat down with a coloring book.

I was flabbergasted! Who were these little monsters? Who was allowed to behave this way? No wonder mom needed to get out and away from the house with these little devils. No wonder she kept them inside away from other children. They were evil.

In the process of sopping up the soap water from the carpet the woman came back. She looked around at the carnage and began yelling at the girls. For a moment I thought she'd unleash some of the fury on me but she didn't even seem to realize I was there. I stayed for a few minutes hoping to get a couple bucks for my ordeal but as she continued to berate the girls I decided all I wanted was to leave... so I did with nothing but a headache and mental trauma for my time.

My mom looked sceptical but believed me and I was gossip queen for a month with the neighborhood kids. I'd survived the crazy house, but just barely.

Trailer Park Rats

Like many of you I have family members who live a completely different life. Some of my family are more wealthy, some are less wealthy. Some live in the suburbs of large metropolitan cities, some live midtown or downtown metropolitan cities, and some live a bit farther out attempting to escape the urban sprawl, and some live yet farther out still in small towns that make up the heartbeat of this great nation. Each member of my extended family is unique and precious to me. I see bits of my crazy soul in all of them.

So let me take you on a childhood journey a little out of your comfort zone and zip code to visit some of my family. As a child, every year we would travel from our home in Georgia to visit my grandparents in Paris during the summer. The car ride was about 13 hours..... oh wait... I meant Paris Texas. While I hated the car ride in our old green and wood paneled station wagon, I LOVED visiting my family in Texas. For me as a child, even at the tender age of 7, Paris was a wonderland of country roads, farms, wide open spaces and the home of my two favorite cousins - together we made up the Musketeers.

We were all the same age and we dubbed ourselves the three musketeers. These two were so much fun! I got to do crazy things that I never got to do at home like shoot bb guns, play on old clunky pontoon boat in my grandmother's backyard and go to the skating rink where they sold dill pickle juice for 10 cents. I was in heaven every time I went and yes, I did like the pickle juice. The three of us were inseparable. Every evening was an argument over who's house we'd spend the night at. Of course I was staying at Grandma's house and in the ever present tug-of-war to get away from my parents I always voted to stay with one of them.

They would be on the phone with my dad's siblings while I begged too. "Please can I go spend the night with Musketeer 1 or Musketeer 2? Please!" My mom, ever patient, would say, "Lets wait and see what your aunts say." Once we knew our options the musketeers would reconvene secretly in the back yard to plan our assault on our parents. There was a down side to any choice we made. We all had a sibling about four years our senior. They were not musketeers and did not want to hang out with each other so one of them would be where ever we slept. M2 has an older sister who either left us alone or bugged us to death wanting to make our three musketeers into four. M1 had an older brother who pretty much left us alone. My older brother would either ignore us or pick on us. Our options clearly indicated M1's house. His mom was the best cook of the bunch too after all we had to think about breakfast! (My grandmother's cooking is another story too).

So more often than not we spent the night at M1's house or at Grandma's but we never ended up at M2's. Well there came a day when M1 had something to do at home and our trio was down to a duo. M2 and I had a blast of course and in the evening when it was time to pick where to stay M2 and I begged to go to her house as I'd never been there. I was excited about a "girls" night with M2 and her sister. My mom agreed with a worried look on her face. I was too excited at the time to notice.

So mom packed up my things and M2 and I loaded ourselves into our station wagon with Dad at the helm. We drove through town and turned off down a bumpy dirt road. The farther we drove the more my apprehension grew. I wasn't going to back out though, it had been a hard won battle with my mom to stay with M2.

We parked in front of a small, time-worn trailer. The cinder block steps leading to the door wobbled a bit as M2 marched up and opened the door. I stood by the car wondering if I was brave enough to sleep in an old trailer in the middle of a field. My Dad gave me a hug and a look that said "are you sure?" but he didn't say it out loud. I nodded my head in response and followed my friend up the wobbly blocks, took a deep breath and let myself in. If M2could do it every night then I could do it for one night. I was a musketeer after all, and I'd heard my dad drive away.

The inside was well lit which might not have been a good thing. A small trailer with three girls, who apparently weren't expecting company, was a sight to behold. As I surveyed almost the entire trailer from the small square of laminate by the door I wondered how things had gotten this messy. My Aunt smiled at me from the kitchen end of the trailer and my fears, doubts, and the mess were erased from my mind. She was like a ray of sunshine with her bright smile.

M2 tugged at my hand saying, "Let me show you my room." The only thing I remember clearly from M2's room was her twin bed and the TV on a rickety little cart across from her bed. M2's mom did something with my bag and M2 pulled me on to the twin bed. "Lets watch a scary movie and stay up all night!" She was excited as I'd been about an hour before. As she was holding up movies and choosing the perfect one my Aunt came back in with a tray of popcorn and soda. She set them down on the bed and said sternly to M2, "Remember! These go back to the kitchen before you got to bed!" M2 absently waved at her mom and popped in a movie.

I surveyed the room while the opening music pumped a creepy song through the room. "Where am I going to sleep?" I asked looking at the thread bare carpet. "Oh," said M2, "We are both going to sleep on my bed." I glanced at the twin mattress and as much as I loved my cousin I did not want to share a twin bed with her. "Don't you have some blankets or a sleeping bag?" If I was wrapped tightly enough I could sleep on the floor. "I can sleep on the floor." She was focused on the movie now with it's opening scene that would surely make us scream. She casually and absently answered me like she'd absently waved her mother off, "Oh you can't sleep on the floor. The rats come out at night."

DADDY!!!!! My stomach did a flip and I thought I might lose the popcorn and soda. RATS? Seriously! She'd said it so calmly like it was a natural fact of life. Flashes of my mom's concerned face flooded my mind. My mom must have known and been worried that I'd be eaten by rats in my sleep! I'd heard a story of rats eating the toes off of babies once and I sincerely wished that I was back at my grandma's house sharing a room with my mean brother and eating my grandmother's cowboy food.

I calmed myself, rubbing my toes, not willing to admit defeat and call my dad to come and get me, I tried to relax sitting on the bed with M2 who was now completely engrossed in the horror film. Who wanted to watch a horror film when I was in one!?

Gradually as the movie rolled on without me watching I began to relax. M2 and her mom were fine with all their fingers and toes as far as I knew. If nothing bad happened to them living here, surely nothing bad could come from my sleeping here one night. Right?

The movie was almost over and M2 was snoring softly still holding the popcorn bowl with a couple handfuls still in the bottom of the bowl. I looked at the TV across the tiny room on its cart with the VCR on the rickety shelf under the TV. I was drifting to sleep myself and wondering if I should turn off the VCR and TV when I saw the little pink nose and whiskers appear in the space between the VCR and TV.

With a good bit of force I shoved M2 attempting to wake her up. She jolted awake, knocking the popcorn bowl and last cup of popcorn on to the floor and it spilled everywhere. "There's a rat by the TV." I said quietly hoping the rat wouldn't notice me. She rubbed her eyes and nodded, "They come out at night. Just go to sleep." and she switched off the light and got comfortable on her half of the bed. No way was I going to be able to sleep! There was popcorn all over the floor! My mom worried about ants when we left food out.... this was like a beacon calling all varmints to the floor by the bed I was sleeping in!

I shoved her again, "Hey shouldn't we pick up that popcorn? Your mom told us to take it back to the kitchen." Yes, take the rat food to another room! She just grunted and said, "I'm not doing it." and fell back asleep.

I was left with a real, life-threatening (or toe threatening) dilemma. Do I leave the perceived safety of the bed and pick up the popcorn in the dark hoping I didn't grab a rat or do I stay here, under the covers and hope dawn comes soon? I did what most 7-year-olds would do. No I didn't cry, but I wanted to. Instead I stayed exactly where I was under the covers snuggled up to the only other human in the crowded room and prayed for sleep to come.

Sleep was just seconds away when I heard a soft munching. In the dark my imagination ran wild. I could hear soft little bodies moving through holes in the wall. I could hear hundreds of small teeth-filled mouths chomping away on popcorn. I wished that M2 snored like my brother, it might have drowned out the real and imagined sounds of the rat feast going on just feet away. There would be rest tonight.... and maybe no more toes. I pulled myself into a tight ball and held my toes. I hoped the popcorn would fill them up and that they wouldn't want my toes. I tried to tell myself they were like her pets... they liked her and wouldn't bother her or her friends. But munching and sounds of nocturnal rodents continued either real or in my imagination. Either way it was terrifying.

Needless to say it was a very long night in which I got only snatches of dozed slumber. I remember the grey pale light of dawn lighting the sky outside the window like a saving angel. As soon as light allowed I peered over the edge or the bed, sure I was going to see swarms of rats or their little footprints like in cartoons showing everywhere they'd been. Nothing. There were no rats, no little footprints .... and no popcorn. I shuddered and woke up M2. "I'm hungry." I lied hoping that would rouse her out of bed. I certainly didn't want to be the first one to put my feet on the floor.

M2 slowly woke up and said, "Man I missed the end of the horror movie. How'd it end." I glanced up at the rolling TV screen that I'd not switched off and replied, "The heroine lived." She looked at me funny then got out of bed and left the room for the bathroom. Well nothing bad happened to her when she put her feet on the floor so I got up and dressed quickly. I refused a shower and breakfast, as my only goal was to go back to Grandma's. I told my aunt I didn't feel well and since I obviously didn't look well, she called my dad to come pick me up. I decided to wait for him outside. I was safe and asleep in the car before we made it back to Grandma's.

I'd survived the rats with all my fingers and toes and though I love M2 and her mom I vowed never to spend the night with her again.