Paris: My visit as an 18 year old. Chapter 1, a teen in mourning.

Bonjour and Salutations!

The awful tragedy of Notre Dame on fire allowed me to recall some of my memories of Paris during my travels.

I’ve travelled a lot in my life, at least I think so, but Paris was the first trip without the family.

It was with my school’s French club, and I was 18 and in mourning. Yes, mourning…we’ll get to that in a bit.

I had always wanted to learn French, because when I was in high school, I wanted to be a lawyer, and then a judge. I figured being bilingual would help my chances in both regards. So in September, I joined my high school’s French club. It was fun, even if the teacher chaperone was a gorgon. Oh, she gave a detention to a student for yawning in class, and she was miserable and crotetchy. Hated kids. And she was German. Nothing like the dourness of an unhappy German. LOL.

So we decided early in the school year to go to Paris during March Break. I went to my parents, pleaded my case, and to my amazement they didn’t rule it out completely! They did say that I had to get a job to help pay for the trip, but outside of that, they were good with me going.

So, I hunted around, and applied for a job as one of those people who ask surveys on the telephone. It was with an outfit called Kubas Consultants, and it was located at the corner of Yonge and St. Clair in Toronto. The woman who interviewed me was named Lenore, and apparently I impressed her, because I got the job!

I was very good at this, because I was honest. Let me let you in on a secret–should you ever do a telephone survey, realize that an incomplete survey is worse than one not completed at all. So, I’d make sure to be honest and tell my customers how long the survey would actually take.

I go to work, do my job, and then come home, while juggling school and life in between. It was an easy job, close to the subway, and there was a McDonald’s I treated myself to after payday. I was living the Life of Riley, paying for my trip to Paris.

I did this for about 4 months, and in January, had my exams. I wanted to tell Aunt C. about the results since I did very well, and she was like a second mother to me. I got home–as it was between semesters, it was in the middle of the day, and my Aunt J. called. She sounded weird, but asked to speak to my Mom. I knew she had gone out, and I didn’t know when she’d return. I said as much, and Aunt J. asked for my dad’s work number. This was before the days of cell phones and smart phones. I looked it up on the list that was nearby, gave it to her, and we disconnected.

The second call was from my dad. That’s when my world changed, and my innocence was lost. It was the first time in my young existence that the hard realities of life were visited on me. He told me that he was sorry, and he had some bad news. Aunt C. had died. My immediate reaction was one of shock and then of tears. He told me to tell my Mom to call him when she got home, but NOT TO SAY ANYTHING TO HER. In retrospect, telling me was a mistake. I told my younger sister, but I can’t really remember how she took the news. I was shattered and devastated.

I’m sitting on the stairs, taking all of this in, when I hear the door start to open. My mom was back. Remember when I said telling me was a mistake?This is why. My mom looked at me, and like most moms, realized IMMEDIATELY something was wrong. I told her that Dad called and she was to call him, but she continued to ask me what was wrong. I can’t imagine the look on my face which led to her persistence. I was a sheltered eighteen year old kid who never dealt with death before–not with anyone so close. I had no guide to go by. So with her coat still on, and shopping bags in hand, I told her that her sister, Aunt C, died.

Unfortunately, it was not the only death in the family that week…

Part 2 coming soon.