I didn’t suspect anything for the six first years of my life.
First thing I started noticing was how people wouldn’t stop speaking french around me like it was the only language they knew… Why would they do this? Did they want to sound sophisticated or something?? It pissed me off so much. And there was this croissant thing too!! I just kept on seeing them everywhere like it was normal breakfast food???
But I remember the day I really freaked out and realised what I was. It was on a sunday. When I woke up in the morning earlier than usual because I heard my dad coming home. He likes going for walks in the early morning. That’s his thing. What a weirdo. So, I went out of my room and proceeded to ask him where he’d been.
And he looked at me. He looked at me and -I KID YOU NOT- he just told me he’d went out to buy a baguette for breakfast. A baguette. Here he was, the holy procreator of nerds, a baguette under one arm, a smile on his face. Like he was fucking proud of himself or something. He couldn’t see what he’d done.
Suddenly everything made sense in my head. The blue, white and red flag I was seeing everywhere. The general grumpiness of everyone. The huge metal tower that looked a lot like the Eiffel Tower I kept on seeing on postcards in shops. The complaining. The obsession with wine. The weird smelly cheeses.
"Dad" I said in a shaky voice "are you… are we…"
How no one managed to speak english properly. How my grandparents had once eaten snails in front of me. The awful dubbing of the tv shows. The azerty keyboards. The crême brûlée.
"Are we french?" I asked, tears in my eyes.
He could have denied it. He could have changed the subject. He could have laughed and maybe -maybe- everything would have just gone back to normal.
"Am I french?" I said again.
He could have lied. But he didn’t. He answered in a slow, deep voice :