I’ve never known French.
Which didn’t stop me from claiming that I did. When I was ten.
I murmured a few slurpy syllables in front of my younger sister. “French,” I said.
Her eyes expanded. I murmured some more, and added hand motions, like I was offering her something to eat.
“Do you really know French?” she asked. “Ooh-wibby-wah-we wah,” I answered.
She ran to ask mom. At which time I jogged quickly after her and confessed to not being entirely fluent.
Last night as our son sat at the dinner table, he declared what we did not know he knew. “I know how to say ‘apples’ in Spanish,” he said.
“Really?” I asked.
“Yep,” he said. “It’s ‘ooloss’.
“Ahh,” I said. “I thought ‘apples in Spanish was ‘manzanas’.
My son shook his head. “Nope. It’s ‘ooloss’. I learned it in preschool.”
Just a moment ago my son delivered another surprise. “I know how to spell ‘flower’ in Spanish,” he said.
Ahem…Of course it is.