I was at the Habitat for the Arts to cover the Mardi Gras party on March 15, when something very cool happened. 

The kids were asked – in English – how many spoke French. Every girl and boy in the entire room proudly raised their hand, except for three. This is a pretty good number, I’d say. 

If you had asked my age group, I graduated high school in 2006, the same question at the age those kids were, we all would have most likely looked around dumbfounded – especially if the question had been posed to us in French. Perhaps a few would have shakily raised their hand, not sure enough in their language skills to boastfully proclaim, “Je parle francais!” with a waving, excited hand. 

At the same time, seeing these bilingual students made me a bit sad, because I never had the opportunities that they do now. I would have loved to have had a French immersion school to attend, but now, at 22 I have more hesitations about trying to speak in another language. I find myself acting like that shaky aforementioned child. 

I took 11 years of French classes in school. I started French class everyday in about Grade 1 in Ontario, and was counting all the way to 100 and speaking French like a champ before we moved to B.C. in 1997. My new elementary school only taught French every week or so. What I had already learned quickly faded away. 

I dropped French in about Grade 11, frustrated that I still could barely be understood. I remember some German exchange students coming to our school and being well above all of us in class. They spoke German, French and English; why couldn’t I get along in French? I picked up French again in my first year of college, but once I got into journalism school my program didn’t include French. I was well aware that a second language in a business like journalism would be a huge asset, but I just didn’t have the time with a full class load and part-time job. 

I recently did a class out of École Desrochers before Christmas, and it was great. I still had trouble making my brain think in French, so my responses were slow. To be honest I picked it up because my American boyfriend spoke French much better than I did, and I felt as a Canadian, that just couldn’t continue. Every once in awhile the two of us will exchange emails in French until one of us loses the other.

I can string a sentence or two together in French, and I know that Jasper is a wonderful place to try it out, but I am still shy about it. If someone says bonjour to me, I know how to reply, tell them how I’m doing, and even make small talk about the weather in French – but you’d never find me actually going out of my way to use the language because I’m embarrassed to be wrong.

It’s wonderful to see Canada’s second language really being taught and used by students, not just in a classroom setting, but between friends and in the school yard.

I went to Jasper Elementary School to take pictures at their lunchtime art club last week, and two little girls were letting me take photos of them. They acknowledged me in English, and then turned back to their art work and seamlessly began speaking to each other in French. I was so amazed that these girls were able to do that. They were fluent, and so lucky.    

DISCLAIMER: The Last Word is an opinion column, it is meant to provoke thought and debate. As such, any opinions written here are the writer’s own and do not reflect the viewpoint of any other Fitzhugh staff member or the directors of the Jasper Media Group Inc.