I’m going to admit something really bad here: I have been prone to prejudice during my life. I believe that I have made good progress in overcoming most of those prejudices as I have gotten older and listened to peoples’ experiences and feelings, although I recognize that I probably still fall short in some ways. One area that I have stubbornly refused to budge on, however, is a long-standing prejudice against the French. That prejudice has been intense. As a student of history I have long looked down upon France’s history. In addition, I had heard anecdotal accounts of French arrogance and rudeness, coloring my viewpoint, and my own experiences in Paris in 2014 did nothing to help alleviate my negative attitude.
For several years I have complained about the DNA testing that showed a strong strain of French ancestry. Mind you, I’m the only one in my family with French (and German) DNA, and I have resented that. You never want to hear my anti-Bastille Day rant. I have been prejudiced based on rather slim historical knowledge, other peoples’ comments, and my own perceptions from three days in Paris.
As you know, I just got back from 16 days in France. We had a six-week trip planned taking us through nine or ten European nations – ending with two weeks in England. I was rather upset when only France agreed to allowing U.S. tourists. It wasn’t fair. Have I mentioned my attitude about France and the French?
Seven years ago we tried to learn a little bit of French before our trip. Unfortunately 2013/2014 were intensely busy years for every member of our family and the language program we were using was seriously obsessed with saying, “je veux une bière,” or “I want a beer.” That really wasn’t very useful for us. Of course, even though I don’t drink, I can still ask for a beer in French today. That’s how much this program focused on that single statement. Because of that very elementary knowledge we weren’t able to communicate. I could also say merci or embrace moi, je parle Francais (the only things I remembered from high school French) besides asking for the beer we wouldn’t be drinking, but that just wasn’t helpful. Maybe our lack of French vocabulary was part of the problem. But whatever the issue, our time in Paris in 2014 was filled with negative experiences with the native population. I felt a bit like Diogenes (who was said to carry a lamp looking for an honest man) as I searched for a polite person. I remember one. Elizabeth says there were at least two.
This is the background of my attitude towards the French before we left for our most recent trip.
The interesting thing about prejudices is that if you are willing to be open then you discover that often those prejudices prove to be nothing but your own personal insecurity and ignorance.
The biggest change on our side before this trip as opposed to the 2014 trip is that we knew more French – especially Elizabeth who had been studying it for a couple years. Some people have suggested that that probably made all the difference. I don’t believe that, because although it made many situations easier, not all situations began with verbal communication. No, I must confess that I was just plain wrong in my prejudice.
Our positive experiences began early on. We took the train to Gare du Nord, and when we struggled to carry our heavy luggage up two flights of stairs at this massive train station (the escalator was closed and there wasn’t an elevator) we had people race to help us. That happened another time in a hotel, as well. We found people willing to give us directions without issues. Our hotel hosts were extremely warm and welcoming. Even when I met up with pushy people in the parking garage where I was wedged between two encroaching cars and so I scraped up the side of my car, when the drivers recognized my panic they reached out with kindness to help. People were willing to work with us as we struggled to communicate. When our car was stuck in a narrow street where there was no way to turn around we had a woman leave her apartment to come help us get out. Over and over and over again we found the friendliest people imaginable. As I accepted this newly-realized reality I began noticing other positive traits, both large and small, in how they responded to each other and their roles within their communities. I realized that my prejudices had been based on faulty premises.
In addition to the personal side, we took time to visit less-famous sites and learned a lot more French history. I will never love much of that nation’s history, but situations and events were placed in a context that made me less derisive than I had previously been. I came to see things more through French eyes than through judgmental American eyes. It was, pardon the pun, eye-opening.
I’ve thought a lot about this the last few days. How often do I make assumptions about people without having enough experience to really know what I am talking about? I’m afraid that that might be too frequent. Several years ago I was teaching an adult Sunday School class made up of mostly older, often senior, adults. I loved it. I was then moved to the class filled mostly with young married students. I panicked. I remembered bad experiences I’d had with those whom I’d termed “the beautiful people” in my younger years and I assumed that this group of talented, attractive, seemingly all-put-together individuals would be the same. I couldn’t sleep or eat for days in fearful anticipation. When I began teaching the group, however, I soon learned that they were the nicest group I could have known. They were kind, thoughtful, loving, and tolerant. It was a fabulous experience.
Judging anyone based on knee-jerk reactions is unfair to both them and ourselves. A one-size-fits-all expectation about people based on age, gender, race, or any other classification can make us miss out on a whole slew of positive experiences. We miss out on meeting and enjoying a lot of wonderful people. What a loss!
One of the best lessons I learned from my trip to France (and there were many lessons) was that the French people are wonderful. I realize that I’m not only no longer upset about having French DNA, I’m actually proud of it. I rediscovered that people are people, no matter where they live. In what is a shock to anyone who really knows me I now proudly say, “Vive les Français!”
Look to God and Live... Joyfully! 