I was born and raised in France, amidst an abundance of cultural and historical landmarks, the second daughter of five in an upper middle class family. My father graduated from college and my mother nursing school. They were both bookworms with great intellectual curiosity, and made a point in providing all of us with opportunities for a well-rounded education, whether it be academically, athletically, or artistically. I attended a private catholic school, which incidentally may have something to do with the fact that I no longer subscribe to any religious dogma.
It was far less rigid and traditional an environment than one may think, but we were still held to the same national standard of comprehensive education as public schools. So we followed the same traditional learning path as everyone else, meaning we had to take--among many other things--a foreign language class starting in 6th grade, Latin classes starting in 7th grade, a second foreign language class starting in 8th grade, philosophy in 12th grade, and French linguistics & literature classes through middle and high school. Being a glutton for punishment (a language junkie, really), I also took ancient Greek in the 11th and 12th grade. I studied Moliere, Cicero, Shaw, Neruda, Demosthenes, Heidegger--although don't ask me what is left of it 16 years later.
Analysis of culturally significant texts is emphasized in all those classes, although rather elementary until 8th grade. Still, by then we were supposed to know and be able to identify metaphors, iambic pentameters, preterition, synecdoches, and other such literary devices. The quality of our written expression was always a part of any grade, even in science classes (you could lose points for having the correct result within a grammatically incorrect sentence). The 8th grade is when all students are introduced to the age-old French art of dissertation--persuasive essay writing. From then on, no more pole-parroting history, literature or geography lessons, one must show their ability to dissect and analyze facts and use a critical mind to compose 2- to 6-page essays to answer broad questions ("Patterns of European colonization from the mid-1800s to the mid 1900s" was a recent topic in the national high-school exam for history).
I remember my 8th-grade French teacher, Mrs Savarit, and the day our first lesson in dissertation was scheduled to take place. I thought we were in for 2 hours of fighting to stay awake, but she took us by surprise when she offered to show us a movie instead of giving us a long list of guidelines. For the next hour and a half, we watched Sydney Lumet's "12 Angry Men". We were all very much awake for the last thirty minutes of class and much debate and enthusiastic commenting took place.
For those of you who haven't seen this '50s movie, I highly recommend it. I have never watched it since and I still remember most details of it. I believe the entire movie takes place in one room, where 12 jurors are debating the fate of a young man accused of murdering his father. With 11 jurors adamant about rendering a guilty verdict, the case seems like a no-brainer. But the only man who doubts the young man is guilty slowly manages to change the other jurors' minds one by one thanks to his persuasive eloquence and through very convincing analysis of testimony, witness personalities, subtle incoherences in the prosecution and other such minuscule details overlooked by both the jurors--one of whom I believe he exposes as prejudiced--and the defense.
When I read that we were asked to blog about "a film, a book, a magazine, even a conversation, in which [we] analyzed rhetorical moves and/or evaluated the merit of that communication on the rhetorical maneuvering of author/speaker", this is the first thing that came to mind, I guess because it was both my official introduction to critical thinking and persuasive exposé, and because the movie itself made such an impression on me. Over the next 11 years of my academic journey, I took a keen interest in literary criticism and even disappointed my father by abandoning a physics major to get a double degree in English and French and major in comparative literature in graduate school--an unfinished endeavor.
However, there is a reason for the title of this blog entry. I must admit that I know first-hand that good written expression and a well-rounded education in rhetoric devices do not guarantee that someone is an accomplished communicator. Academic life in France is just that. Academics. No high-school sports, no cheerleading squads, no after-school debate or drama clubs. Just school, from 8:00am to 5:30pm. And if you are a true nerd on top of it all, your social skills once you are thrown into the "real" world may be seriously lacking.
That is what I found out when I finally had to stand on my own two feet and handle every day situations. No amount of schooling can teach you the proper way to deal with conflict, keep your emotions in check, or get your point across effectively to someone who doesn't want to listen. I could barely go buy stamps at the post office without having a panick attack, let alone return a defective item to a seller or convince an employer that I was the right person for the job. I didn't know how to talk to people, how to adjust my communication strategies to various situations, or how to gauge a person's reaction to my words.
It took years of trial and error and practical learning before I felt comfortable and adequate. I feel richer from those experiences, and I now try to teach my kids what I believe I should have known early on and couldn't learn from books. Then again, I might be shooting myself in the foot a little, since my youngest is already quite the negotiator and will make eloquent logical arguments to show me the benefits of letting him stay up just ten more minutes.
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