I like the word “parlure” because it evokes the word parole, which reminds me of the little Good Speaking French cards that I collected with my primary school report cards and that I proudly collected. They rewarded our efforts to choose the right words and pronounce them well. I later learned about the Tokens of Beautiful French, which we took away or gave each other when we discovered a fault in one of our comrades. We monitored the “when we” and the “if I would have” (corrected forever while having fun), we formed teams, counted the points, won prizes and we learned while having fun.
I have always loved my language which, I understood later while listening to a new student arriving from France, is rather my speech, that of a little French Canadian, who became a Quebecois. And I managed to sow this love, because on a poster made during French Language Week, my daughter, who was then in fourth grade, had written, in letters decorated with fleur-de-lys: “Talk to me about love, I will tell you about my language… FRENCH! » It was more than thirty years ago.
But today I am in pain because my language is threatened and mistreated, it is considered a problem and a barrier rather than a treasure and a source of pride, and I am afraid because it is weakening. .
I’m in pain and I’m afraid… because my language is my country.
To watch on video