When language lessons leave a bitter taste

One French instructor I had while growing up in the Eastern Townships stands out

In this series of columns, one-time Alliance Quebec president and media personality Royal Orr reflects on his relationship with his second language.

Why are some teachers so memorable?

I probably had a dozen French instructors in elementary and high school growing up in the Eastern Townships. Decades later, I only remember one: Grade 9; Alexander Galt High School; Mme J.

I want to be clear that I liked Mme J. She was young and energetic — a decent teacher. But really, I only recall a single class with Mme J. in any detail. That day, as I was reading aloud to the class, Mme J. stopped me to correct my pronunciation of the French word “auto.”

“Oh-toe,” she said (if I try to transliterate what she carefully enunciated). And again, “Ohtoe,” looking at me encouragingly.

Now I was never a difficult student; quite the opposite — I learned early that the best way to keep teachers off your back is to just do whatever they ask as quickly and successfully as you can.

“Ow-toe,” I said, genuinely trying to parrot her correction. She frowned, looking stern for a moment.

“Non,” she said, with a brittle smile, speaking slowly as to an idiot. “Oh-toe.”

My own smile was a sick one. No one wants to be singled out in class in Grade 9. I desperately needed to say this right and get her to move on.

“Ow-toe?” I quavered. Mme J.’s tight smile got even tighter and her eyes narrowed in what I saw as mixed disapproval and distaste.

Now in my own defence, that year I had chosen to take an introductory German class and I suspect the trilingual pronunciations of “auto” were now tangled up in my brain so that my honest attempt to sound like I was talking about a Renault — “oh-toe” — came out like I was voicing a Volkswagen commercial — “ow-toe” — even though I was trying very hard to sound like a Frenchman and not a German in that moment.

And that moment dragged on. Why Mme J. decided to go to the barricades with this one word with this one student I cannot say. She obviously saw that moment as a teachable one. In my mind it lasted several agonizing minutes. I never said it to her satisfaction.

But what exactly did she teach me, intentionally or otherwise, about speaking French, especially on this point of how to pronounce a word that would be recognized by 99 per cent of francophones whether I said “otto” or “oh-toe” or “ow-toe” when speaking about my car?

I thought of this singularly memorable moment when I read a study published last year on attitudes to learning French among English-speaking college students in Quebec. Philippe Gagné from Vanier College and Maria Popica from John Abbott College polled almost a thousand students in CEGEPs across the province and followed that up with more intensive interviews.

“In general,” they conclude (the translation here is mine), “students have had a bad time in FSL (French as a second language) schooling. They retain a bitter taste, even resentment, about it.”

With remarkable consistency, young people used some variation of “French is shoved down our throats” to explain their resistance to FSL. They also cited boring teaching methods, lack of opportunities to speak French in class (combined with shyness about using French), and lack of connection to young francophones.

Gagné and Popica have several interesting ideas about how to improve things, many of them linked to the need to find ways for young FSL learners to create friendly connections with francophone Quebecers. Most interestingly for me as I thought about my Grade 9 showdown, the researchers point to the need for FSL teachers to get much better at the delicate art of correcting a spoken second language.

The difference between “ohtoe” and “ow-toe” is indeed a minor thing, a mere misplaced diphthong.

But it reinforced in me a lifelong dread that when I speak French I’m being judged on even the tiniest slip of the tongue.

Why Mme J. decided to go to the barricades with this one word with this one student I cannot say. She obviously saw that moment as a teachable one.