I can perfectly relate to your poem “France, 1963″. When I was five and a half years old, my family moved from Hyde Park, NY, to a small town twenty miles outside of Paris. We ended up living there for two and a half years from 1963 till 1965, exactly the time period you are referring to (although I did not notice the chic girls who looked through me).

When we arrived, our transport boxes had USA written all over it. This was during the time when Charles de Gaulle, and therefore most of the French, had a strong dislike of Americans. You can imagine that we were not well received. Also, my first days in school without a clue of the French language can be a very sobering experience, but once you master those difficulties you’re strengthened for the rest of your life, ha, ha!

Nevertheless, my family and I learned to love the France which you describe so well in your poem. It can still be found, in old black & white movies, or today travelling on a bicycle or on foot, in places you’d otherwise never find any reason to go to…

Merci pour la mémoire!

Ron