social retard
As the subject says, I am pretty much a social retard. I am pretty awkward to begin with, but in France, where there isn’t much in the way of awkward, I am completely maladroit. My host mom’s dad has been really really sick, dying, in fact, for the past two months. I’ve been worried about it, and in the beginning, when she first started going to see him regularly, I would ask how he was. Clearly since I said at first, that implies that later on, I didn’t do it. This week he got a lot worse, and my host mom went to see him last weekend and has missed work a couple times to see him as well. Did I ever say anything to her? No. Because I am a social retard. Honestly, how terrible is it for her to let me live here, welcome me into her home, and I can’t even drudge up a few words of sympathy? Nope, apparently not.
Today, I came home from lunch and no one was here, and I saw a note on the ground from my host cousin explaining to the woman who cleans the house every week that Brigitte, my host mom, would not be there today because her dad passed away. (Yes, he died late last night.) When the family started coming home, I said nothing to them. Nothing at all. Because I am a terrible terrible person. I felt really bad about it, and I still do. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say, if they even expected me to say anything. But I decided just to keep quiet and stay out of the way. My host brother and cousin were busy taking care of dinner and my younger host siblings, and I said nothing to any of them. Nothing. My host mom finally came home right before dinner, around 7:45. She looked sad, exhausted, stressed . . . and I said nothing. I kept thinking I should run up and hug her or something, because that’s what I would do with my real mom, but my stupid socially retarded brain decided that no, the best thing to do would be to sit on the couch. Saying nothing. Doing nothing. Dinner started, and I went in and ate 2 slices of pizza. I didn’t say anything to Baptiste (older host brother) or Etienne, (host cousin), with whom I was eating. I asked what kind of pizza it was, and that’s it. Then my host mom came in and talked to us again, and I just stood there! WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME???? As soon as I ate my two slices I put my dishes in the dishwasher (while Baptiste and Etienne were still eating, I might add,) and went upstairs. I decided it would be better not to bother them with my presence.
My host mom came upstairs soon thereafter to ask me why I hadn’t said anything, I am living here, after all, and I’m like part of the family, and by not saying anything I’m really making myself seem like an outsider. At that point I started crying, because I really do feel really bad about all of this, I just have never had to deal with a death so close to home before and I didn’t know to how to do it, least of all, in French. I told my host mom (while crying) that I’m really sorry about her father, and I do really care, but I didn’t know what to say or what to do. She immediately understood that I was just feeling super awkward about it all, and that I clearly felt bad (tears are not usually fake, at least my tears), and she hugged me and said "comme ma vraie fille" which means "like my real daughter" and she thanked me and told me not to worry. She was still thinking of my feelings, the evening after a day full of dealing with Death. I can’t believe myself. She then told me to go down and finish dinner (apparently, even when having take-out pizza for dinner, in France you still have all the courses, which means dessert of fruit or yogurt afterwards), so I washed my face.
As I went downstairs for an apple, I apologized again for being so maladroit, which is the dictionary translation for the word “awkward” and my host mom says “Je suis maladroit aussi” (I’m awkward too, don’t worry.) I went into Constance’s room and said “I’m sorry about your grandfather” and hugged her, and she (an 8 year old girl) says “don’t worry, it’s not your fault. He’s not suffering anymore.) How cute and mature is that? This little girl, who goes to Catholic school and wears pigtail braids quite frequently, deals with the death of her grandfather as her mother tells her too: to look at it like the end of his suffering. I then went downstairs and said “I’m sorry about your grandfather” to Baptiste, who also told me not to worry, ate my apple, which satisfied my host mom’s concerns about me not eating enough, and apologized to Paul also. I have no idea how I ended up being this socially awkward, but thank G-d that my host family is so forgiving. I mean, they could probably all tell I had been crying, too, since even after washing my face it was still red and I still had squinty eyes, but still. All they were looking for was a kind word and I decided the best thing to do was be a big awkward silent American with no manners.
And on that note . . . back to studying for tomorrow’s midterm.
Today, I came home from lunch and no one was here, and I saw a note on the ground from my host cousin explaining to the woman who cleans the house every week that Brigitte, my host mom, would not be there today because her dad passed away. (Yes, he died late last night.) When the family started coming home, I said nothing to them. Nothing at all. Because I am a terrible terrible person. I felt really bad about it, and I still do. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say, if they even expected me to say anything. But I decided just to keep quiet and stay out of the way. My host brother and cousin were busy taking care of dinner and my younger host siblings, and I said nothing to any of them. Nothing. My host mom finally came home right before dinner, around 7:45. She looked sad, exhausted, stressed . . . and I said nothing. I kept thinking I should run up and hug her or something, because that’s what I would do with my real mom, but my stupid socially retarded brain decided that no, the best thing to do would be to sit on the couch. Saying nothing. Doing nothing. Dinner started, and I went in and ate 2 slices of pizza. I didn’t say anything to Baptiste (older host brother) or Etienne, (host cousin), with whom I was eating. I asked what kind of pizza it was, and that’s it. Then my host mom came in and talked to us again, and I just stood there! WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME???? As soon as I ate my two slices I put my dishes in the dishwasher (while Baptiste and Etienne were still eating, I might add,) and went upstairs. I decided it would be better not to bother them with my presence.
My host mom came upstairs soon thereafter to ask me why I hadn’t said anything, I am living here, after all, and I’m like part of the family, and by not saying anything I’m really making myself seem like an outsider. At that point I started crying, because I really do feel really bad about all of this, I just have never had to deal with a death so close to home before and I didn’t know to how to do it, least of all, in French. I told my host mom (while crying) that I’m really sorry about her father, and I do really care, but I didn’t know what to say or what to do. She immediately understood that I was just feeling super awkward about it all, and that I clearly felt bad (tears are not usually fake, at least my tears), and she hugged me and said "comme ma vraie fille" which means "like my real daughter" and she thanked me and told me not to worry. She was still thinking of my feelings, the evening after a day full of dealing with Death. I can’t believe myself. She then told me to go down and finish dinner (apparently, even when having take-out pizza for dinner, in France you still have all the courses, which means dessert of fruit or yogurt afterwards), so I washed my face.
As I went downstairs for an apple, I apologized again for being so maladroit, which is the dictionary translation for the word “awkward” and my host mom says “Je suis maladroit aussi” (I’m awkward too, don’t worry.) I went into Constance’s room and said “I’m sorry about your grandfather” and hugged her, and she (an 8 year old girl) says “don’t worry, it’s not your fault. He’s not suffering anymore.) How cute and mature is that? This little girl, who goes to Catholic school and wears pigtail braids quite frequently, deals with the death of her grandfather as her mother tells her too: to look at it like the end of his suffering. I then went downstairs and said “I’m sorry about your grandfather” to Baptiste, who also told me not to worry, ate my apple, which satisfied my host mom’s concerns about me not eating enough, and apologized to Paul also. I have no idea how I ended up being this socially awkward, but thank G-d that my host family is so forgiving. I mean, they could probably all tell I had been crying, too, since even after washing my face it was still red and I still had squinty eyes, but still. All they were looking for was a kind word and I decided the best thing to do was be a big awkward silent American with no manners.
And on that note . . . back to studying for tomorrow’s midterm.