My father has certainly led an interesting life. He grew up in northern Wisconsin--his father was the town mayor and his mother was a nurse at the local hospital. He has one younger sister Jean. When he was in his twenties, he enlisted in the U.S. Airforce and was a weather observer in France. Thus began a life-long love affair.
He enjoys telling stories about his wicked French teacher on base. She would fire questions at them so rapidly, the students would buy time by saying "ca depends..." (that depends) while frantically searching for the answer.
One time, when he and his friend Ken Poetzel, had some time to travel, they went to the island of Majorca. That evening, they were at a bar, and some men led them into a back room, where there were men with machine guns that led them to prison. Apparently, there had been a bank robbery the day before and the theives were Americans. Lucky, they were able to convince the police that they had tickets in their motel room that would clear their names (as they were on a boat at the time of the robbery.)
When most kids had their parents read them Dr. Suess or other picture books, I was read The Adventures of Asterix and also Tintin. My father would get these comics in French and then translate them for me. I also remember attending a French majors' dinner at University of Wisconsin-Madison and rehearsing "Je m'appelle Katie" over and over again in my head.
My dad ultimately got his masters in Geology and his Ph. D in Earth Resources. But he instilled me with a love of the French language for life. I studied it all through high school and college, and it even helps to this day when trying to decipher a script of Moliere.
I imagine my father, going to bed at night with his cocktail of arbor mist and gatorade, drifting off to sleep and travelling back to France....
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