Somewhere Beyond the Sea

I’d love for my wee man to acquire some foreign language skills while he is still a spongey little thing.
He already has strong verbal skills and we’d like, without becoming pushy parents, to encourage this. At the ripe old age of two he can already sing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” in perfect Japanese (thanks to his Japanese childcare teacher) and is surprisingly verbose in English. He quite literally stuns us with his conversation skills each and every day. In fact, I’m fairly certain he already knows more words than the entire cast of Jersey Shore… which I guess isn’t all that impressive as there are trained monkeys who can communicate better with grunts and flash cards.

Suffice to say the boy is an excellent communicator and his proud dad and I both feel strongly that if we do start him on some basic language lessons we’d like them to be Spanish or the more challenging (for his parents) Mandarin, the language we feel would be most advantageous to the future of a growing Aussie boy.

But, as per usual, our random little devil has other ideas and has become increasingly fixated with all things French. He’s long had a soft spot for an old French language CD that’s been floating about in the car since a trip to Europe when he was a newborn. Whatever I choose to listen to in the car, whether spoken word or music, it’s invariably met with demands to turn it off because, “Me not like this song, me want the French!” For the sake of peace, I occasionally give in and he’ll sit happily muttering away to both the English and French translations he hears with his own quirky pigeon interpretations – which may prove handy if we ever need to check into a hotel, order a sandwich or ask directions to the nearest toilet in Paris.

At first, I thought it was a kind of weird but kind of cute phase but now wonder if he absorbed so much of France as a baby on our holiday there that he is becoming a Frenchman by osmosis!
His favourite song of the moment is “La Mer” the original French version of the classic “Somewhere Beyond the Sea”. In French. “No Iglish, Mama.” 

A somewhat unusual choice, some might suggest, for our normally rock loving tot. He insists on nicking all our Brie, the Frenchier, smellier and unappealing to normal children the better, and can eat a whole party size portion of good French Pate in one sitting. He pleads for French toast for breakfast every morning (and isn’t thrilled with the antipodean vegemite alternative he usually ends up with). And, on a recent trip to a large city bookstore, refused picture books about pirates or dinosaurs, instead insisting on “My First French Picture book.” I did my best to steer him towards colourful kiddy covers with comical puppies and bears and even a Spanish version of the same. But non, he wanted the one with the “Eyes Full Tower” on the cover. He won that battle and is now insisting I dress him in a striped French sailor style top and a beret... just like the boy in the book.

So why was I surprised this afternoon when I arrived at childcare to the following greeting delivered in perfect off-handed Gallic style.
“Bonjour mama, ca va?”
Que?

Now, I’m starting to wonder if our IVF doctor mixed up some embryos from “somewhere beyond the sea” and accidentally implanted me with the love child of Charles Trenet and a Parisian Tour Guide.  Aide Moi!