Do I LOOK Like a Francophile?

Sometimes, I have to step back and look at myself from the outside. I’ve had occasion to the that in a number of ways lately, in work, in family life, as a husband…

So I guess it should come as no surprise that I’d find myself going through an unprompted review of what someone might conclude about me by looking at my bedside items. One word would describe the person who inhabits the area surrounding where I sleep: Francophile!

Mind you, I have nothing against the lovers of French culture. I just never felt drawn to it over any other European culture. In fact, I feel drawn a bit more strongly to Greek and German culture than I do French. But you wouldn’t know that from looking in my room. At least, not right now.

The evidence. On my nightstand:

• A book, titled Ballet 101, on loan from Oregon Ballet Theater
• A book, titled The Art of Fencing, on loan from The American Studio of Fencing
• a left-handed foil on the floor, near the bed
• a clock radio
• a lamp

So, the area is relatively spare. Not a whole lot of clutter going on. BUT, what is personalized is ‘strong with the Force’ of  French culture.

Now, in my defense, I’m reading Ballet 101 so as to learn more about the art form  my daughter is pursuing. I really know nothing about ballet except the spectacle of the finished product. M is deeply engaged in the process of learning/making the art, not consuming it. There’s a big gap here between what I know and what she knows, and I need to bridge in order to maintain a connection with her going forward. That explains the primer on Ballet.

Now, Fencing started out for R as a sport of his own choosing. Last night, though, with the start of my first lesson, all four members of the family now suit up and study swordsmanship. R is currently the most committed and most skilled, followed by M, then C. While everyone else has been taking lessons since June, I’ve been the last holdout. The Art of Fencing has been a supplemental read for me, as I figure out the basics of the sport.

The first lesson was not so much Fencing as preparing. I showed up pretty-much on time, but didn’t get involved in the class until halfway through. I had to find a pair of knickers that fit me. Then I had to try on fencing jackets until I found one that fit me too. Work through the bin of gloves for the elusive lefty glove big enough for my hand, and – finally. I was ready (I already have my own lefty foil and my own mask, thanks to C’s diligent shopping for high-quality used equipment).

Now, C was at the Fencing studio, too. It was a crowded night, actually. Class had double the normal number of fencers! I stepped out of the changing room in my gear all white canvas, cradling my black wire mask in my right elbow, and holding my foil in my left hand, and C sort of gasped, “you look really hot!” she muttered out loud, but to herself.  While I was glad to hear she liked the look, I was feeling rather lost and a little silly in all the new, unfamiliar gear. I was just thankful I didn’t look as out-of-place as I felt.

It only took her a few seconds, though, before her thoughts moved on to more competitive thoughts much more in line with how I felt. In that same self-muttering delivery, she next said, “I can’t wait to see how THIS goes!”

Well… it went.

With all those students at the same time, there were two classes going. R was sparring in the more advanced group (R is one of the youngest in this group); M was working on basics with the beginners (where her age is about normal).  The head instructor waved me over, and I joined the beginners – the only fully grown person in that group.

When M realized that I’d just joined her class, she squealed and hugged me. We settled in to drills right after that. While all the other beginners were running drills, Z (the instructor) started me with the very basics. Stance. Advancing footwork. Retreating footwork. Grip.

I don’t know if I moved faster, slower, or the same as any other rank newcomer, but I do know that Z only drilled me on footwork a couple times before he paired me up with another adult to make a third group away from the beginners. Together, we drilled on advancing, retreating and basic lunges until the end of class.

I enjoyed it. I have absolutely NO fluid motions in my technique. It’s like learning to ride a bike, or learning to swing a golf club. The body has to learn the new movements. My feet keep getting rotated all wrong; I don’t angle my foil correctly; I grip the foil handle too tightly…

Oh, I don’t know if I’m an accidental Francophile. I’m probably just over-reacting.

There is, after all,  Italian ballet, German ballet, American ballet. There’s German fencing grips, Spanish fencing gear, and the like. Neither of these disciplines are wholly French. I’m just building knowledge bridges between me and my children, as they pursue passions of their own. That is why, I’m sure, Catherine Fences. It’s fun, but I suspect she wouldn’t Fence just for herself; she Fences because the kids like to Fence. I’m not loving these things because they’re French; I’m learning these things because they’re my kids’ loves. And that process enriches my life too.