How An American Teen Speaks French

I just flew in from Denver and boy, are my arms tired!

Guck, guck, guck.  On our flight last night to Virginia, Sissy got stuck behind the drink cart with a French guy.

(Uh, ok.  That whole description made me feel super yucky for a sec.)

But how did you know he was French?

Sissy: Because he said, “Something…something…Francais.”

He was probably asking you if you speak French.  So what did you say?

Sissy: I said, “Uh-huh,” and then nodded and smiled.

[Here she smiled wide for me in the re-telling and revealed her pink American teen braces.  Yes, pink.  It’s a thing they do with braces now that we’re from the future.  Royal blue headgear is from the past.  Trust me, I know this.]

And then what happened?

Sissy: He talked some more French.

Did you respond to what he was saying?!

Sissy:  I said, “Cool!  Cool!” then the cart got done so I waved bye and walked away.

And that?  Is how an American teen (who doesn’t actually speak French) speaks French.

He breathed on them…

Ok, so, yep, we’re back to the religious blog concept.  I really want to explore this idea.  Or at a minimum, I really want to explore what happened at this past Sunday’s mass.

To set the stage: the Gospel reading was that one where Jesus appeared to the apostles in the locked upper room, post-resurrection. He wished them peace and then he breathed on them.

Uh-huh. That’s what I said the Gospel said.  He BREATHED on them.

Was this an expression of affection back in the day?! Otherwise, Jesus breathing on his homeboys is a little puzzling, right?  But pay this critical juncture in the faith no never mind.  What I’m saying here is that this naturally prompted Sonny and me to begin breathing on each other.  Using various escalating forms of breath, what started out as a playful, hair-riffling breeze soon turned to full throated exhales for maximum bad breath exposure.  Huuuuuuuuuccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkgh.  Eventually, the entire pew sounded like a bunch of sleestacks were after Marshall, Will and Holly.  Whereupon I turned to Sissy to ask her what the whole breathing thing was about.  Jesus’ breathing on the apostles, not our breathing on each other, just to clarify.

I figured that surely Sissy, who could actually BE one of the apostles, what with her zeal and her kindness and her daily walking of the Word, surely SISSY would know what that breathing was all about.

Turns out she DID know what that breathing was all about. And stop calling her Shirley, guck, guck, guck. But instead of revealing all knowledge of end times, what she said was, “If you two don’t stop it, I’m going to punch you both when we get out of here.”

Oh. Ok.  Apostle much?

But? Because I’m such a good mother??  I ignored her threats and breathed on her too.


I got a swift jab to the ribs for my trouble.

Apostle in da’ house!!!