Kim Golden's Blog - Posts Tagged "paris"
30 Days, 30 Stories: Story #4
Good afternoon from snowy Stockholm! It's Day #4 of the 30 Days, 30 Stories writing challenge, so here's my latest edition.
Story #4: I'm Moving to Paris
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When I was in first grade, I decided my favorite book was no longer "The Story of Ferdinand"--it was "Madeline" by Ludwig Bemelmans. I read it countless times, studying ever detail and dreaming myself away to a school where the nuns were kind and where I could wear cute uniforms and a Parisian bob. I didn't know it was called a Parisian bob, but I wanted one. I asked my mother if I could cut my hair. I figured my hair was too long and too thick--wouldn't it be easier to wash if I had a haircut like Madeline's?
My mother thought I was talking about a classmate. I held up the book and said, "No, Madeline in Paris."
"We don't live in Paris, so you can't have that haircut," was my mother's response. I think she thought that would put an end to the discussion, but I was one of those kids who was always thinking, always analyzing what I was told.
"So if I move to Paris, I can have that haircut?" I asked. This seemed a logical conclusion. All the other girls would have this haircut. I couldn't just go around with the braided ponytail my mom always insisted on giving me.
"Yes, when you move to Paris, you can have that haircut."
I thought this was great news. I stored it away, figuring if I just saved enough of my allowance, I could move to Paris. I was only six or seven. I didn't even know that Paris was in France or that Paris was in a foreign country. I just knew I could move there and cut my hair.
At school, I told my friends how I was going to move to Paris and cut my hair. I just needed to save up enough money. One of my friends had actually been to Paris--she was impressed, she said the food was good there. She wanted to move there too. She liked the chocolate croissants. I knew about those, though at that point I'd never had one. Madeline ate croissants. I thought, I need to eat a croissant. I stored that away in my mind too. Find out where to get croissants, eat them. My friend said people spoke funny in Paris. She said it sounded like everyone was saying, "vishy-voo" all the time. So we practiced saying it while we played on the monkey bars in the schoolyard. We learned two real French words-- "bonjour" and "merci"--we thought that would be enough since all they ever said after that was "vishy-voo".
I asked my friend how she got to Paris. She said she didn't remember the whole trip, but she went to the airport and then she woke up and they were there. That sounded okay--not much different than when I fell asleep during the carrides to Virginia.
One day, a teacher heard us talking about this plan to move to Paris. The teacher called my mom and told her I was telling fibs at school. I wasn't telling fibs. I *knew* I was moving to Paris...just as soon as I saved up enough of my allowance. My parents sat me down and said I had to stop telling people I was moving to Paris, since we were not planning on doing so. I told them that *I* was moving to Paris. I didn't tell anyone that *they* were moving to Paris. And then I reminded my mother that she said I could move there and get my hair cut. She didn't remember telling me this, but anyway she said I couldn't keep telling people I was moving to Paris. It just confused them.
Years later, when I told my mother I was moving to Stockholm, Sweden, she shook her head and, after giving up on trying to convince me that I should take the New York job I'd been offered, said, "I always knew you'd be the one to move the furthest away."
Story #4: I'm Moving to Paris
--------------------------------
When I was in first grade, I decided my favorite book was no longer "The Story of Ferdinand"--it was "Madeline" by Ludwig Bemelmans. I read it countless times, studying ever detail and dreaming myself away to a school where the nuns were kind and where I could wear cute uniforms and a Parisian bob. I didn't know it was called a Parisian bob, but I wanted one. I asked my mother if I could cut my hair. I figured my hair was too long and too thick--wouldn't it be easier to wash if I had a haircut like Madeline's? My mother thought I was talking about a classmate. I held up the book and said, "No, Madeline in Paris."
"We don't live in Paris, so you can't have that haircut," was my mother's response. I think she thought that would put an end to the discussion, but I was one of those kids who was always thinking, always analyzing what I was told.
"So if I move to Paris, I can have that haircut?" I asked. This seemed a logical conclusion. All the other girls would have this haircut. I couldn't just go around with the braided ponytail my mom always insisted on giving me.
"Yes, when you move to Paris, you can have that haircut."
I thought this was great news. I stored it away, figuring if I just saved enough of my allowance, I could move to Paris. I was only six or seven. I didn't even know that Paris was in France or that Paris was in a foreign country. I just knew I could move there and cut my hair.
At school, I told my friends how I was going to move to Paris and cut my hair. I just needed to save up enough money. One of my friends had actually been to Paris--she was impressed, she said the food was good there. She wanted to move there too. She liked the chocolate croissants. I knew about those, though at that point I'd never had one. Madeline ate croissants. I thought, I need to eat a croissant. I stored that away in my mind too. Find out where to get croissants, eat them. My friend said people spoke funny in Paris. She said it sounded like everyone was saying, "vishy-voo" all the time. So we practiced saying it while we played on the monkey bars in the schoolyard. We learned two real French words-- "bonjour" and "merci"--we thought that would be enough since all they ever said after that was "vishy-voo".
I asked my friend how she got to Paris. She said she didn't remember the whole trip, but she went to the airport and then she woke up and they were there. That sounded okay--not much different than when I fell asleep during the carrides to Virginia.
One day, a teacher heard us talking about this plan to move to Paris. The teacher called my mom and told her I was telling fibs at school. I wasn't telling fibs. I *knew* I was moving to Paris...just as soon as I saved up enough of my allowance. My parents sat me down and said I had to stop telling people I was moving to Paris, since we were not planning on doing so. I told them that *I* was moving to Paris. I didn't tell anyone that *they* were moving to Paris. And then I reminded my mother that she said I could move there and get my hair cut. She didn't remember telling me this, but anyway she said I couldn't keep telling people I was moving to Paris. It just confused them.
Years later, when I told my mother I was moving to Stockholm, Sweden, she shook her head and, after giving up on trying to convince me that I should take the New York job I'd been offered, said, "I always knew you'd be the one to move the furthest away."
