Finding Your Voice

‘He needs to find his voice’ is one of those comedian sayings that old hands say in the dressing room when confronted by the threat of a talented open spot. In short it means you have to work out your ‘stage persona’ so that your performance is consistent. It sounds like utter nonsense but has a ring of truth to it even though it only really crops up when old hacks, like me, are asked for advice – which we hate.
“You’ve got some nice stuff,” we’ll say sagely, “but you need to find your voice.” It’s our way of saying ‘Please leave me alone.’
I always found that the best comedians were those who knew who they were offstage, they’d ‘found their voice’ in life and so the performance was just an extension of that and it showed in how natural their stand up was. Some people have a natural confidence, most comedians certainly do not.
Samuel is twelve now and seems to have pretty strong ideas already and he’s not afraid to express them. People who know me may be surprised to learn that actually I don’t like confrontation all that much unless it’s a battle I actually want to fight; most of the time I’m just nodding at what people say to me, not through tacit agreement but because I’m probably not actually listening. Maybe it’s an age thing, but I just don’t have the energy to jump all over every statement that I disagree with – and I disagree with a lot – but then, I’m not twelve.
Samuel's confidence is causing problems though, not at home where open discussion is actively encouraged, unless I’m tired, but at school where articulate and enthusiastic debate apparently needs to be quashed before it can turn into dangerous intellectualism. I know! In France!
Samuel had his 2nd term school reports this week and while the marks were very good, his ‘comportement’has been called into question. The teachers, and it seemed to be pretty much all of them, were full of praise for his willingness to help others but he also has, they chorused, a cocky streak, he doesn’t suffer fools gladly, he has a sharp tongue and can be quite moody. Natalie read all of this out and peered at me over the damning document.
“I wonder where he gets thatfrom?!” She snorted.
The teachers’ main gripe though wasn’t this side to his behaviour at all but his enthusiasm! Which he certainly didn’t get from me. He’s always putting his hand up, one said. He’s always got the answer, said another. The maths teacher is apparently so exasperated that he’s threatened to ban Samuel from his class unless he stops calling out the answers. Yeah, it must be really hard having pupils take an interest in class, what you really want as a teacher is a bunch of violent plasticine eaters at the back who’ll just let you get on with your job and not worry too much about being educated. What an absurd complaint! What am I supposed to do, tell him off?
“What’s all this, Samuel? Good marks, intelligence and taking an active interest in the learning process – I’m really disappointed in you, son.”
He has opinions and he’s not afraid to share them, but by far his biggest bugbear is languages and he’s something of a purist. Saturday evenings at home follow a pattern; firstly watch ‘The Voice’ (UK Version) and then switch over and watch ‘The Voice’, pronounced ‘Ze Voice’ (French Version). Thankfully I’m not at home much on a Saturday as I just can’t contain my own comportementwhile this dross is on but basically the differences in the two versions are these. ‘The Voice’ is certainly of a higher singing standard than ‘Ze Voice’ and has an interplay between the judges which is playful and tongue in cheek. ‘Ze Voice’ is utterly po-faced and takes itself oh-so seriously. That is essentially the difference between the French and the English though, why is there no culture of stand up in France? Because they don’t know how to laugh at themselves.
What has Samuel jumping up and down at ‘Ze Voice’ though is the use of English by the judges. It’s constant and it winds him up magnificently. At the sing-off stage of the show the contestants go into battle with each other singing the same song so you would expect to hear expressions like 'se battre' and 'la bataille'.  Last week one of the judges (Florent Pagny) told one of his duelling pairs that he felt they were ready to 'bien vous fighter pendant la battle '.The presenter of the show introduces each sing-off with the same expression: 'Que la battle commence!'
And this has Samuel screaming at the television, “Why can’t they get their own bloody language?”
It doesn’t annoy me quite so much obviously, I like to think the French are trying to be so accommodating with me and my own struggle to speak their language that they are, as a nation, all learning English to make it easier for me. In England if you drop French into a sentence, for example, “Do what you want, I give you carte-blanche.” You are deemed pretentious. In France, if you drop English into your sentence, simple words like 'yes' and 'news' are becoming commonplace, you are either cool or guilty of dumbing the nation down, depending on which generation you are.
We were watching the lunchtime news and in a report on something or other, I can’t remember what exactly, it’s French lunchtime news though so it would have been food related, the correspondent used terms like ‘le packaging’ and ‘le marketing’. Samuel went apoplectic, a full-on meltdown railing against laziness and stupidity. It was magnificent stuff and I felt quite proud of him actually, passion for language in one so young is a good thing in my opinion, a full-on hissy fit is even better but as the tantrum went on Natalie just peered at me again with her ‘he’s taking after you again’ look on her face.
Maurice is different. He has a sensitive side that needs protecting and sometimes it takes a physical toll on him. He’d been having stomach aches all week and in order to rule out appendicitis we’d taken him to see the doctor.
“It’s nothing serious,” the doctor said, “but he obviously has very fragile intestines, prone to acid build up...exactly like you Monsieur.” He said to me over his glasses. I had my first stomach ulcer at the age of fifteen. I looked at Natalie who againhad her ‘he’s taking after you’ look on her face.
There’s an inquest going on at home now and has been for the last week. Firstly we are trying to determine exactly what my good points are and see if any of those, should they exist, have been passed onto any of my offspring. The early signs aren’t good. Thérence over-indulged in his favourite tipple one afternoon this week and belligerently urinated on the hall floor. I got thatlook again.
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