Penkava: The French Revolution, et cetera
My experience in learning foreign languages has been quite interesting. It started way back in the fourth grade. My teacher knew French and decided to turn us all into petit enfants de francaise.
At first I thought it would be cool. If I could s’il vous plait my way into an extra bonbon and excusez-moi my way out of the bastille, then, vive la France! But I quickly learned that my life as a garcon would turn into a Reign of Terror.
It all began when our teacher decided to give us French names that matched our English names. This was cool for Jimmy, who became Jacques. Peter became Pierre. Gaston became, well, Gaston. But what about my name?
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