Lingo

I’m about to hit a 2300 day streak on Duolingo, which is about 6 ¼ years. Learning French. Every day. You’d think I’d be fluent. You’d think I’d reached the point when I could be part of Paris café culture, sipping coffee on the left bank, wearing a beret, and discussing philosophy and art with my fellow intellectuals.

 

Well, one part is true. I’m in France, near the Seine. But not in Paris. I’m in a little town called Jumieges and I’m watching a man and his dog. The dog is still only a puppy really. Still frisky. Perhaps two or three years old. The man throws the ball. The dog chases. The man shouts some commands. The dog obeys. The dog rolls over in response to some verbal instruction.

 

Here’s the thing. The dog has been learning French for two, maybe three years. It understands what’s its master is telling it to do. I, on the other hand, have been learning French for 6 ¼ years and I understand none of it. Not a word. If the man told me to roll over, or fetch, I’d stand there with a gormless expression. I understand less French than a dog.

 

So, I will celebrate more than six years of persistence but accept that I have failed. Goodbye Duolingo. Enough is enough.

 

I will roll over.