I’ve been half French all my life. It’s not something I chose or can change. My mother’s maiden name is Clavette.* Her mother’s maiden name was Pelletier. And that goes back a very long way. We only ended up American because the French apparently were really bad at making compasses and the family ended up on the wrong side of the St. James in northern Maine.
Shortly after 9/11, this country vilified the French. Fortunately, my dad was only half French himself, but got his English/Scottish-mix name from his dad. It would have been a pretty terrible time to be in Pro-America, stuck with a name like Clavette, surrounded by hillbillies with guns and pickup trucks. Remember Freedom Fries and the violent denunciation of everything French?
And now since the New Orleans Saints won the SuperBowl, we can’t stop hugging the French. Everything is Geaux this and -eaux that. Even the Pope is French in a Wall Street Journal photo. A French Pope; like that worked out so well the last time around.
As long as you’re a winner, everybody likes you. When you’re no longer a winner or you disagree with us, you can geaux away.
Sad.
*Forget about hacking my credit card accounts, I lie about that to banks 
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