Being frank

Be aware, the following may not have much politeness, political correctness or might just well be frank, a gift of Gramps'.

I met two people from the church for lunch. Acknowledging the possibilities of "errors of translation" and admitting that they are sympathetic for me, it was challenging for me to express myself (what is new?). Through barely repressed tears I explained my need to be at home with my family and to stay with my grandma for a while. J said, "Try to see it from our perspective, we don't understand the culture you come from."

"And I don't understand yours!" I actually said in French. ;-)

"Why would you as an "enfant" stay with your grandmother? In my family, I would never expect my children to stay with my parent."

Because your kids are 13, 17 and 18 years old! I thought. I'm 23, finished with college and without a full-time job. Why wouldn't I?!

"Everyone else is busy. We don't want to rush Grandma into any decisions about moving and when she does decide, she'll need someone to help her pack. The nearest relative is eight hours away."

"See, we don't understand that. Our families live closer to each other."

Yes, because if you lived twelve hours apart, you'd be in a different country!

.... "Tell us more about your experiences so we can do a better job next time." Fair enough.

"I think you should have a younger volunteer because having finished school, I don't use my education in this placement. And when an applicant says they don't speak, read or write French well on their application, you should believe them."

Without a doubt, I'm sure there were still miscommunications in the conversation and I've been judged once again unwittingly. That's the feeling I've had here consistantly since I arrived. I'm tired of representing "America".

They don't want me to write in a couple weeks, "I want to come back now." That's not going to happen.