"Why don’t you have to go to France to study? Why can’t you study here?” My grandfather’s sternness carried through loud and clear. I knew what he meant and translated his questions in the full realization that he would not loan me the money to study abroad for three weeks in Paris. I stood in front of the family television and faced the tribunal. My grandfather sat by himself in a chair and my grandmother and mother remained quiet. It was showdown time and I pulled the words that wrapped around my head like a magician, tricking his audience into seeing what he wanted them to see.
Flashback. I’m going to share with you a story from 1990. Why? I want to commemorate my 15th anniversary of studying abroad in Paris for three weeks during that summer. Only three weeks you say? For a kid who grew up in a low-middle class family, three weeks was a life altering experience for me.
But let’s get back into the juice of the story…
I faced my grandfather and swallowed back my nervousness. “I want to study in Paris because it’s not Philadelphia. It’s Paris! I’ll learn more than I ever could here. I’ll meet new people, see a new culture, and live—in Paris!”
My words had no affect on him. He shook his head. “I’m not going to lend you the money.” And that was that. All my dreams were washed away. I had already won a $500 scholarship toward the trip, but I needed to come up with another $2500 or so (with the cost of spending money factored into that). I loved my grandfather dearly, but he was stubborn (okay, so am I) and he didn’t believe in traveling or studying in far off places. He thought the home was good enough for everything for him so he wondered why I would want to seek experiences outside of the home. Going to college several miles away: That was fine for him. He could understand that. But to study in Paris for three weeks for so much money, no way.
I had studied the French language all through high school and college. In my sophomore year of undergraduate studies, my French teacher taught us about a program being handled through the International Studies Association. You took a test and if you scored well, then you’d receive a partial scholarship for studying abroad. I took the test, obtain the $500 scholarship and wanted so much to come up with the rest of the funds. I was 19 years old and I had hoped to travel to Europe before I was 20. If not for my mom helping me obtain a loan from a credit union, I don’t know how I would have gone on the trip.
There’s a point in my life in which you can see a divergence. Before Paris, I did this and that. But on coming back from Paris, I shot off the charts. I had drive, independence, knowledge, and know-how that I didn’t have before. I was a changed man who would do what was necessary to succeed. It didn’t matter what was actually happening, I would make an event come to be. Nothing could stop me.
Before Paris I was shy, reserved, and quiet. After Paris, I took on the world and became a leader on campus. You see, I learned a lot about myself in France. The blinders had been taken off of me. I realized that I wasn’t the person that I had been pigeon-holed to be by my family. Did my family do this on purpose? No, of course not. But I grew up in a family in which no one had gone to college before or traveled to Europe. I learned much that they didn’t know existed. In their eyes, I was simply a quiet boy who was smart, liked to read, and was a fool for not playing basketball (since I was so tall) or becoming a doctor or lawyer (who makes money off of writing anyway?). Paris is the city of lights, but to me she is a city that awakened me.
When I went to Paris, I learned a valuable lesson. People, who have no preconceived notion of you, will not treat you with old stereotypical labels that those who grew up around you give to you. You’re not known as an egghead for studying in France, but are an intellectual. A lost American in Paris is the same as another lost American. Together you form a bond and work together. You don’t label yourself a “jock” or a “bookworm.” You’re both frightened about being mugged late at night lost in Paris. You become a team.
And the most important lesson I learned is that you can make your dreams come true. It may not be easy, but you can do it. For anyone who hasn’t gone away to school or traveled abroad, it might be difficult to put this into words that you’ll believe me. But living in France (even for so short a time), changed a part of my core. I matured and blossomed in a way that I had not known possible.
In choosing to travel to France, I broke out of my shell and learned how to obtain the money, worked to save the funds and pay it back to the bank, picked up the skills of a different language and culture, and enjoyed a whole new me. Sound dramatic? I don’t believe I would be where I am today if it weren’t for that trip. The struggle to obtain the money for that trip taught me a valuable lesson and I make my dream become reality. I succeeded.
It’s 15 years later and my French is horrible. I barely remember any of it. I’ve been back to Europe two other times since then and each time I learn something new. The stories I’m going to tell are of my personal journey and experiences while over there. I had hoped to get in contact with more of those who went on the trip with me, but that’s not possible. I did try though. Today I want to focus on the celebration itself. Its 15 years after I made a monumental decision in my life. And it’s time to rejoice and party!
First Night
My trip to France scared the crap out of me. I had never been on a plane before. At 19, I hadn’t been any further two hundred miles from my home. My mom and her boyfriend dropped me off at the airport and when I climbed on the plane, I buckled down, and kept my camcorder out. I took video of the rain and the planes waiting in queue. I met a few really cool people who were going on the trip and we all chatted and talked and tried to sleep during the flight over. At a little after 6:00 a.m. (Paris time), we touched down at Orly airport and buses took us to our rooms at the Cite de la Universitaire (I believe that’s the southern part of Paris). We went through our introductory sessions and were told to try to stay up and go to bed as near a normal time as we could. At the end of the day, a group of people were headed on the Metro to Notre Dame de Paris so that they could see the cathedral at night. I hadn’t had sleep in about 34 hours but I hung in there and went.
Oh, the sights and wonders of that first night! The eve before Bastille Day in France is a magical evening. Music lined the Seine (some people danced to jazz while others a little further up popped along to Madonna’s “Vogue”). Music and people filled the street. I had never seen so many people out having a good time—without a riot or fight. I was totally amazed. People sang, danced, and drank. The smell of robustness filled the night air with an energy I had never sensed before. My new friends and I walked through the crowd and we blended in as best we could as we passed people playing trumpets or saw tables of condoms left out on a table (all of us took a condom as a souvenir). The first night of magic lingers within me like an ember from a long burning fire. The energy is condensed, burning, and complete. When I came home that night (home to my dorm room), my roommate and I collapsed in our beds and I fell asleep knowing that I had made the right decision in coming on the trip. But at that point in time, I didn’t know that I would be lost in Paris the next night (after 1 a.m. in the morning) or that I would help a couple come together who would eventually marry and have four beautiful children. (To be continued....)
More Pictures
Cover of the International Studies Association's 1990 summer abroad brochure.
A boat filled with tourists on the Seine at night.
View of La Defense (white "cube") from the Eiffel tower at night.
Scan of a metro ticket from my trip.
A look across the Seine at the Trocadaero from the Eiffel tower at night.
A shot of my humble bed that I slept in while in Paris.
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