March 5, 2007 - page 2



I had never had the attention of two people so undivided. They looked at me like they were anticipating a movie that had been made from their favorite novel.

The reading went well. They seemed to understand most of it, anyway. Monsieur Schirmann only made that what-in-the-world-are-you-trying-to-say face a couple of times during the page and a half reading. Not bad, I thought. They asked me questions for fifteen minutes about the city, the other students, the food we ate, etc.

Madame Schirmann is an elementary school teacher. She went and got a pen and French/English dictionary. The three of us sat at the kitchen table for another thirty minutes proof-reading and correcting the report. At one point in the story, I had described an experience as “intense.” This happens to be a French word, but apparently not one you can use to describe the weather. I looked on, wide-eyed, as the two of them spent seven minutes in serious thought, trying to decide what would be the best substitute word.

A half-hour into this, I began feeling nervous for the Schirmanns. I hadn’t meant to take that much of their time. They probably had things to do and people to see. This just did not seem like an efficient use of time.

It turns out that they wanted to wait and hear my report until they had more than five minutes. They didn’t want to rush me. My weekend news mattered to them and they wanted to give me their full attention. My report seemed to mean even more to them than it did to me.

I walked back to my room to make the corrections. Sitting at my desk and staring out the window at Strasbourg, I realized something wonderful (and probably very French) about the

next page      back