Saying Goodbye

Dammit, I should have given them my e-mail address. I should have said goodbye somehow, wowed them with a parting lesson, indelibly impressed on them what it means to me to be an American. They all gasped in shock when I confessed I had never watched Prison Break or bought a hamburger at MacDonald's. I tried to build on that momentum, annoucing Congress's recent vote to end the Iraq War by 2008 and the Supreme Court's ruling in favor of regulating carbon emissions. "Do you think this will really change anything?" I asked. They shrugged. This was one of my favorite classes, with the best attendance and the most participation. How could it end like this with shrugs?

I should have brought in food. They were still bitter over the fact that the other half of their class (on week A) had gotten Nutella and toast right before Christmas. At the very least I should have taken a picture. Now all I have is a list of names on a ledger followed by rows of checks and X's, here's and absences, mostly checks in this exceptional case. I can match each name to a face: Aurelien, the class clown, wore a "F*** ME I'M FAMOUS" shirt, and his pal Alexandre always found a way to bring up how prudish he found Americans. Timothé was loquacious, socially awkward and the constant butt of his classmates' jokes. Romain and Gael, the studious silent types, always sat next to Timothé yet never defended him. Adil sat in the back finishing his math homework (I could never bring myself to give him shit for it because I remember doing the same thing in my French classes not so long ago). Alizée and Sandrine mostly observed but ocassionally interjected a note of frankness in to the conversation. Alizée had voted for Bayrou, the centrist, in the first round of the French presidential election. Adeline, the spirited girl-next-door, listened attentively to my every word and answered every question with a sparkle in her eye. Stephen has an American father and had no need for my English class. I like to think he came only because he had a slight crush on me. Finally, Virginie and Julie, the unpretentious blondes, dutifully helped Adil with his math homework in the back.

Perhaps one day one of them will plan a trip to the States and think to look up their old English Assistant from lycée. Perhaps they'll never think of me again, or worse, think back on what a waste of time I was. On average I had less than 10 minutes a week per student. How was I supposed to make that worth their while? They already watch far more than 10 minutes of American movies and TV a week, and listen to more than 10 minutes of American music. Do they really need more contact with my culture? Not only is America a daily presence in their afterschool lives; now we've invaded the classroom too. I can only hope my being there in the flesh--a living, breathing, not obese, non-Republican American--added a shade of grey to their caricature of the super-power across the pond.

* * *

To the students of Lycée Ionesco,

Since October I have struggled to figure out how to make my time with you worthwhile. Some of you I saw every week, some every other week (many even less than that). On average each of you had the chance to speak with me for less than 10 minutes a week. It seemed almost pointless. But I had the chance to speak to all of you collectively for 12 hours a week, and that, I assure you, was not pointless. Over the course of those hours I saw what America looks like through your eyes: the land of Prison Break, Desperate Housewives and Big Macs. And I saw what France looks like through your eyes too--Sarko, Ségo and Bac Philo.

I hope you learned something from our time together. Mostly, I hope you understand that just as the French are now debating the quesiton, "What does it mean to be French?" so too are we Americans debating what it means to be American. With your help I now feel better able to answer both of those questions.

Thank you and best of luck in the future.

Sincerely,
Erin