Yesterday a man came to fix the television-- he was surprised to find that a cable was corroded and we hadn't been able to get television for many months. I hadn't actually noticed, but as the Oscars are coming up this weekend, I tested the television and was horrified to see that we wouldn't be able to watch my first Oscars' ceremony in many years (not counting the aborted version last year where I watched an hour or so in a deserted bar in Colorado after making the furious bartender switch from The Simpsons).
After he fixed it, he showed me some of the stations. "Can I get foreign stations?" I asked. "French ones?"
"Vous parlez français?" he answered. He was a Berber from Marseilles. We had a nice talk. He said he came to the U.S. at age 19 and married an American. He said he was happy he hadn't stayed in France. I urged him to get French passports/ dual citizenship for his children. It gives them more choice in their lives.
"What are their names?" I asked, hoping to hear some wonderful Berber name.
"Hannah and Michael," he said.