Granny

Yes CJ, its story time with Gerry again.

My Granny was French; Marguerite Cinq-Mars. As a result of most us going through French School (in my very best Tommy Smothers), Granny always liked us best. Actually we lived closest, just around the corner, so we got to see her most. Granny was also, to me at least, testament to some of the origins of Frenglais. Even the root of the word is playful; mixing the English spelling of French (Fren) with French spelling of English (glais).

My brother Frank and I are masters of the art. In mid-discussion, if you get stuck on a word, switch languages. If you’re rambling in English and the French word is more descriptive, switch to French. Mid-sentence, vas-y!

Granny loved it when we spoke French to her. We always liked Granny best because of Saturday nights. On Saturdays, Granny babysat us so my folks could go out to dinner and a movie. I am about to unveil one of the greatest conspiracies of all times; Granny, being a red-white-and-bleu Habs fan, would always let us stay up to watch Hockey Night in Canada, even though we were supposed to be in bed by 8:00. Shh, don’t tell my Mom.

Granny lived with her brother, whom we called Uncle Charlie. He was actually my Dad’s Uncle Charlie, and his namesake, I’m certain. (I strongly recommend the movie "The Namesake" staring Kal Penn) Uncle Charlie was, as we call it today, special. He was small guy; smaller than Granny even, and his head was on odd shape. He was slow, but capable of holding down a job and functioning in society. Granny looked after him, and when we came to visit we paid our respects, said hello, and left him be. Occasionally he would engage us in small talk.

Just before my sister was to marry, I came home to word from Mom that Granny had been rushed to the Montréal General Hospital in an ambulance, and Big Al, my Dad, had gone down to see what was going on. I raced down to the General on my motorcycle, to find Big Al and his brother , my uncle Jack, with bad news. Granny had had a heart attack, and probably a stroke as well, and had passed away. My sister loved Granny dearly and considered delaying her wedding, but in the end didn’t

At Granny’s funeral service, we had another sad family gathering. In the previous 5 years, both of my Mom’s parents had passed away. We morosely noticed our cousins and us that funerals had turned into sad family reunions. Auntie Eva, Granny’s sister, took great pride in introducing us, in French, to the Cinq-Mars’. Auntie Eva and her extended clan were amazed that the grandchildren were all keenly interested in making certain Uncle Charlie would be looked after. He may have treated us coldly at times, but this was our Uncle Charlie. As my wife Nita is fond of quoting, it does take a village.

My Granny was very working-class. I remember Granny telling me, when she had retired, that she was working part-time as a telephone operator at Morgan’s. Dating myself once again, there were no electronic switches in a phone system. Granny used to answer the incoming calls and then plug the wire from the incoming line into the slot of your extension. To further date things, her granny would have never seen a phone. As far as Morgan’s is concerned, it was renamed Hudson’s Bay when I was a kid. History 101.

Another similarity I have with Granny is how my heritage is confusing to others. I have no French accent when I speak English. Even though I left Québec 25 years ago, you really have to listen hard to discern the English accent in my patois. My joual is so bad that when Nita’s employer put her through French language training a few years ago, I did NOT speak French with her for the first few months, so that I would not pollute her speech. On a few occasions, my nephew or nieces have whispered to my brother in French, after a particularly joual-ish tirade on my part, “Hey Dad, what did he say?”

Unfortunately, in my life, I have encountered a number of asses in all parts of this country; I have been labeled a “Maudit anglais” and also called “A dumb frenchie”. I choose to ignore these.

Instead, I choose to recall my Granny. I recall thinking in either language. I recall being able to crack jokes in either language. I recall discussing our joint Frenglais-ness with my buddy Alexandre Brosseau. I recall my nieces and nephew speaking proper French. But mostly, I proudly remember being asked on a number of occasions, in both languages “Are you French or English? You don’t have an accent”

Salut mes amis!