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In the early summer of 1990 I was on an airplane on my way to the US for the first time. Fifteen years ago, fifteen years younger, barely sixteen years old and full of anxiety and anticipation.
I left my girlfriend in tears at the airport, with a very sweet kiss on her lips I promised her that I'll love her for ever.
My parents weren't sad at all, we had so many problems earlier that year, that they thought it was a good idea for me to go away for a full year, learn English, have some fun on my own, break other people's shit, and somehow "grow up" a little bit.
My sisters didn't go to the airport, they preferred to stay home and sleep. Weeks later I would learn that my room had been looted by them; my beloved Nintendo wasn't working due to some Coke that they accidentally spilled on it, and all my porn magazines that I so carefully kept hidden where in the trash can. My tapes featuring Ginger Lynn where save in the house of my best friend, thanks God.
Summer of 1990: Seems like yesterday, even today, almost fifteen years later.
I was sent to Eastern Kentucky, to a small town lost in the middle of nowhere. I had to live in a farm with sheeps, goats, cats, dogs, a couple of wild horses and a little brother called Donny, among other animals.
The second week of my stay a reporter from the local newspaper came to the school to interview me. Even though I couldn't speak English, we talked for an hour and it was enough for her to fill half the front page with my comments. A picture of a very smiley Jean-Francois appeared besides it and made me an instant celebrity in the "region". One Saturday later that summer, I was walking in the one and only McDonald's of the town and a couple of old folks were on their way out, so I opened the door for them. The old guy turned his head to say thanks and "recognized"me from the article in the newspaper. My first venture into "celebrity land"; years later, when I was going back to South America from China I was gona become a celebrity again, but for a whole different reason. I could've skipped that second part my friends, jail is not a nice place to be.
Shit man, I still can't believe it: Me, a city boy living in a farm for a whole year; and even more so I made it in one piece and actually had fun. Well, not "city-fun", but more like "country-side-fun", which is kind of different and very particular, but fun nevertheless.
Once I started understanding the language and making myself understood, came the girlfriends, the concerts, the problems with my host family, the weed with those country boys, the driving around with my neighbor talking shit, the porn through his satellite dish, the "parties" at the high school, and so on.
I always asked myself during that year why the hell I was the only one, among all the exchange student in the program, who was sent to such a little town? To such a hole in the ground?. The rest of my friends where in large cities, with plenty of concrete, shopping malls, people, buildings and shit, but not me. Why?
The answer came many months later when we all meet at the end of our year as exchange students. In my little town, no one could speak my native tongue, not even the foreign language professor at the high school. So my only option was to learn English in order to make friends and to find my way around. All my friends from the exchange program always found in their big cities someone who could speak our native tongue, so their English wasn't as good as mine after that year. I was not only fluent, but had under my control all the slang that a hot blooded country side Kentuckyan could come up with.
Not to mention that fucking accent that took me years to get rid of.
I left my girlfriend in tears at the airport, with a very sweet kiss on her lips I promised her that I'll love her for ever.
My parents weren't sad at all, we had so many problems earlier that year, that they thought it was a good idea for me to go away for a full year, learn English, have some fun on my own, break other people's shit, and somehow "grow up" a little bit.
My sisters didn't go to the airport, they preferred to stay home and sleep. Weeks later I would learn that my room had been looted by them; my beloved Nintendo wasn't working due to some Coke that they accidentally spilled on it, and all my porn magazines that I so carefully kept hidden where in the trash can. My tapes featuring Ginger Lynn where save in the house of my best friend, thanks God.
Summer of 1990: Seems like yesterday, even today, almost fifteen years later.
I was sent to Eastern Kentucky, to a small town lost in the middle of nowhere. I had to live in a farm with sheeps, goats, cats, dogs, a couple of wild horses and a little brother called Donny, among other animals.
The second week of my stay a reporter from the local newspaper came to the school to interview me. Even though I couldn't speak English, we talked for an hour and it was enough for her to fill half the front page with my comments. A picture of a very smiley Jean-Francois appeared besides it and made me an instant celebrity in the "region". One Saturday later that summer, I was walking in the one and only McDonald's of the town and a couple of old folks were on their way out, so I opened the door for them. The old guy turned his head to say thanks and "recognized"me from the article in the newspaper. My first venture into "celebrity land"; years later, when I was going back to South America from China I was gona become a celebrity again, but for a whole different reason. I could've skipped that second part my friends, jail is not a nice place to be.
Shit man, I still can't believe it: Me, a city boy living in a farm for a whole year; and even more so I made it in one piece and actually had fun. Well, not "city-fun", but more like "country-side-fun", which is kind of different and very particular, but fun nevertheless.
Once I started understanding the language and making myself understood, came the girlfriends, the concerts, the problems with my host family, the weed with those country boys, the driving around with my neighbor talking shit, the porn through his satellite dish, the "parties" at the high school, and so on.
I always asked myself during that year why the hell I was the only one, among all the exchange student in the program, who was sent to such a little town? To such a hole in the ground?. The rest of my friends where in large cities, with plenty of concrete, shopping malls, people, buildings and shit, but not me. Why?
The answer came many months later when we all meet at the end of our year as exchange students. In my little town, no one could speak my native tongue, not even the foreign language professor at the high school. So my only option was to learn English in order to make friends and to find my way around. All my friends from the exchange program always found in their big cities someone who could speak our native tongue, so their English wasn't as good as mine after that year. I was not only fluent, but had under my control all the slang that a hot blooded country side Kentuckyan could come up with.
Not to mention that fucking accent that took me years to get rid of.
Jean-Francois was drunk at 11:56 PM
3 Comments:
I would think that you've been here long enough to know by now that the ladies totally DIG a french accent.. or any accent for that matter. Well, any european accent. What do you mean you got rid of it? Silly guy, go get it back and get laid.
I meant "Kentuckyan" accent man; and that shit ain't pretty.
As for my other "accent", I do know how and when to use it...
No.. you don't want people to know you've lived in Kentucky, especially if you were to visit out here (California). But lay on the french thick and heavy, especially in LA.. you'll have to beat them off with a stick.
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