Christmas wishes for Pere Noel and Christmas Witches for Father Time.

This evening has us wrapping up our holidays here in France.  The end of this coming week will see us return to our homeland in search of familiar holiday cheer.  We began our weekend with a trip to the city to do a bit of shopping in the madhouse that is the centre ville this time of the year.  The streets were filled to the brim like Times Square on New Year’s Eve.  It was dizzying and an interesting time to push the limits of our recent big boy pledge.  Our youngest would handle this tour of duty on foot.  We pushed the little fella to his max and what started out as a short afternoon shop ended up a 6 hour march through the streets and shops of what we know consider home.  It was yeoman’s work even for the heartiest of kids and he handled it like a champ.  Not even so much us a single outburst or complaint.  I guess he is a Big boy after all, and remember . . . BIG boys walk.  Perhaps I am not a BIG boy, for by the end of the evening, I would have gladly accepted a ride back to the garage to collect my car.  Having survived yesterday’s marathon of commerce, we arose this morning with renewed vigor for the day ahead.  

We are, at present, in the afterglow of my wife’s company Christmas party.  On the surface, it would appear that the French have once again got it right where we American’s continue to get it wrong.  Christmas is for the children.  The typical corporate Christmas affair in the US involves a very stuffy dinner party in a convention hall followed by a tedious speech or two about mission statements and the dawning of a new year.  ADULTS only.  By the end of the evening, too much alcohol is consumed by the gal in accounts receivable and everyone in the company has a story to mull over at the water cooler over the course of the following year.  For those of us that aren’t inclined to commit career suicide, it is an uncomfortable evening of small talk and clock watching, wondering what our children are doing at home and why we aren’t with them.  


No, this party would be different.  It was a stage production held in a local theater/community center.  It was an interactive affair that was focused on the children.  In fact, it wasn’t long before our eldest found his way on stage.  His command and comfort with the language is apparent when he volunteers to take the stage in an all French play in front of a few hundred folks.  As is his usual way, with the few words he spoke, he stole the show.  It was essentially a semi-professional stage production of various songs and dances relating to Christmas.  Great costuming (for the most part) and some interesting themes, but we will get to that.  In between holiday skits, the MC would haul children to the stage to participate in little games.  He would ask for volunteers and kids would rush to the front to be selected.  Much to my surprise, my eldest was one of those kids.  He was fleet of foot enough to be selected for one of these groups and was actually called to the stage twice.  The activity on stage was a simple competition.  Boys versus Girls.  The task was to take a loop of rope, step into it, and thread the needle before passing it on to the next kid.  The instructions were in French, but even I could follow along.  My boy was at the end of the line for the fellas.  The MC started by asking everyone their names.  After a long line of Philippes, Pierres and Jacques, my son announced his rather unusual and very American first name with a spot on French accent.  Immediately the MC made comment and the crowd chuckled at the endearing foreign child.  Soon the race was on.  They split two heats with a win a piece.  It was time to move on with the show, but it was announced that this group would be back to the stage after the next performance for a tie breaker.

The show carried on and soon the kids were called back to the stage.  This time, the MC decided he was going to hype the competition a bit by letting each child show their athleticism by listing their favorite sport.  One by one, they listed Dance, Judo, Gymnastics, Rugby, Karate, etc . . .  and when they got to the strange boy on the end, he once again brought the crowd to cheers when he proudly announced . . . “ Futbol Americain”.  This time the girls won in a landslide and their reward was that the next skit in the production would be a rendition of Beauty and the Beast.  Not sure what would have happened had the boys pulled out the victory, but I presume that it would have been something equally “un-festive”.  That seemed to be the theme however.  It was “Christmassy” at times, but overall, I couldn’t figure out what in the hell we were watching.  A lot of cartoon characters seemed to be portrayed and there was even a dance that seemed to be for Halloween which involved witches and what I think was supposed to be Harry Potter.  It was bizarre but pleasing for the younger set.  And then it got just plain weird.  


The final number was sort of a Rockettes introduction of Pere Noel.  The main stage performers for the whole evening had been some very fit female dancers and they returned to stage for the final number in very short white satin nurse type outfits with sequined Christmas trees on them paired with white fishnet stockings and fairly high heels.  They danced and sang their final number as Pere Noel made his way on stage.  It seemed clear to me that while Pere Noel dresses like Santa, they are nothing alike.  Based upon the way the actor was carrying on, Pere Noel is VERY old and feeble.  There is no way this dude is going to shimmy down a chimney to deliver Christmas toys for all the little one’s Christmas joy.  He eventually tottered his way off stage as though he would soon die and led the children to another room to receive their gifts.  Yes, they received gifts.  It was ingenious.  We each went out a few weeks ago and got our children each and gift on the company dime.  These would be their presents from Pere Noel.  Unfortunately, the old geezer didn’t even stick around to hand them out or commune with the kids.  After he led them to the gift tables he disappeared.  Weird!  It was fun to see my children’s reactions, particularly my eldest who typically can see right through these things.  He knew there would be gifts at the end based upon conversations with the other children, but he vocally assumed that they would be stock presents and everyone would receive the same gift.  That was not the case and each got something that was on their list.  It was a lovely event and though it had an eccentric French flair, I think we all enjoyed it tremendously.

And now we look forward to the week ahead and a Friday that will likely be our Christmas Eve for the year.  An exciting day of anticipation and joy as we return home to see those we left behind and reunite with our American souls.  Despite the excitement I wonder how this will all feel.  Will it feel as foreign as France felt to me so many months ago?  I imagine it to feel familiar yet surreal.  We have become seasoned in our new environment and some of the sights and smells here that once seemed so strange now seem as comfortable as my favorite pair of jeans.  What I look forward to the most is being able to speak and be spoken to without embarrassment and confusion.  I will never take that for granted again, and I will never criticize an immigrant in my own lands for an inability to speak in English.  I feel for their plight and know that in many ways America is much less hospitable for them than France has been to me.  Everywhere I go, there is a fair chance that at some point I will run into someone that speaks a bit of English.  Perhaps I should come home and only speak in French.  How many folks do you think that I will find to help me out?  I know the answer to that question, do you?  At any rate, despite the trepidations about rekindling old friendships and being accepted back into my own culture, I am excited for the trip and know that this week will pass in the blink of an eye.  I must apologize in advance should there not be a post in the coming week, but I have a lot to tend to between now and then.  By then, however, if you feel a desire for an update . . . ask me in person . . . I’m coming HOME.