A FRENCH FOURTH

Charles Trueheart

10    If all of this resonates with me, it may be because my family moved to Paris in 1954, when I was three, and I was enrolled in French schools for most of my grade-school years. I don’t remember much instruction in American studies at school or at home. I do remember that my mother took me out of school one afternoon to see the movie Oklahoma! I can recall what a faraway place it seemed: all that sunshine and square dancing and surreys with fringe on top. The sinister Jud Fry personified evil for quite some time afterward. Cowboys and Indians were an American cliché that had already reached Paris through the movies, and I asked a grandparent to send me a Davy Crockett hat so that I could live out that fairy tale against the backdrop of gray postwar Montparnasse.

11    Although my children are living in the same place at roughly the same time in their lives, their experience as expatriates is very different from mine. The particular narratives of American history aside, American culture is not theirs alone but that of their French classmates, too. The music they listen to is either “American” or “European,” but it is often hard to tell the difference. In my day little French kids looked like nothing other than little French kids; but Louise and Henry and their classmates dress much as their peers in the United States do, though with perhaps less Lands’ End fleeciness. When I returned to visit the United States in the 1950s, it was a five-day ocean crossing for a month’s home leave every two years; now we fly over for a week or two, although not very often. Virtually every imaginable product available to my children’s American cousins is now obtainable here.