That wacky French language

I spent Christmas with my sister and her family in Denver. We had a great holiday. Her grandson, Charlie, aged 9, wants to learn French. He’s going to France in June. I volunteered to get him started.

We breezed through “How are you?”; “Goodbye”; “My name is Charlie”; and the numbers 1-10.

Then I said, “There are some French words that are very funny, Charlie.”

“Like what?” Charlie said.

“Like pamplemousse,” I said.

“What does that mean?”

“It means “grapefruit’,” I said.

“That is funny,” Charlie said.

“Want to hear another?”

“Yes.”

“Cacahuète,” I said. “That means “peanut.”

“That’s not funny.”

Ignoring the response, I said, “If you want a grapefruit, you say that you want un pamplemousse.” It’s masculine. If you want a peanut, you say, une cacahuète. It’s feminine.”

My sister’s ears picked up.

“What do you mean feminine or masculine?” she said.

“French nouns are either masculine or feminine,” I said.

“What? How can a thing be masculine or feminine? A fruit is a fruit. A vegetable is a vegetable.”

“Not in French.”

“Why? That’s the craziest thing I ever heard. Are you telling me a head of cabbage is female? And..”

“Let’s see,” I said, racking my brain, “what is the word for cabb…”

“And a potato is a female?” That’s ridiculous. A vegetable is a vegetable.”

“Yes, that’s true, but….”

“Who says whether a vegetable is a female or male? Who makes that decision?”

“That’s a good ques…”

“What if I disagree? What if I think a grapefruit is female? It sounds and looks more female to me than a peanut!”

“You have a point. In some cases, it doesn’t make sense.”

“In all cases! When I look at a potato, I don’t think what sex it is. I think. ‘There’s a potato.’ Why do they have to complicate things?”

“Well, it’s just the way it is. Italian and Spanish are the same. All romance languages are.”

“What’s the matter with those people?”

Actually, as she went on, I realized she had a point. But long, long ago, I’d stopped trying to figure out why foreign languages have certain rules and regulations. What’s the point? I can’t change them, and so it’s a waste of time. Just accept, and learn.

This was not going to be the case with my sister. I wonder what it would be like if I unleashed her at an annual get-together of the Académie française with her objections? These people are in charge of all things pertaining to the French language, and can add, subtract and change words. I think they’d be impressed. They might take action. My sister is convincing.

Until then, with the cultural atmosphere the way it is, I can see it now. At those wonderful open-air markets France is celebrated for, there will be a new kind of listing:

PAMPLEMOUSSE

Pronouns: he/him