Belle Mere
English translation: Mother-in-Law
Literal translation: Beautiful Mother
I was recently asked to write a piece around Mother’s Day, a holiday that I cynically assumed to be a Hallmark invention but which, in fact, has its roots in an ancient Greek festival honoring Cybele, Earth Mother, personification of fertility and earth and nature and wild animals—especially bees and lions—which got me thinking about my French mother-in-law. Roar!!!
I can see her now, propped up in her hospital bed after a recent knee surgery, growling at her poor, sniveling nurse, whom she claims is treating her like a 10-year-old.
“Mais Madame! We must have our morphine drip in place until we leave next Wednesday!”
“And who says I leave next Wednesday? I’m checking myself out tomorrow, ma pauvre.”
“Mais Madame…!”
Quelle conne, she says to her son, my husband, who shakes his head, smiling with sadness and pity for the poor nurse. This is no ordinary lion. This is a woman who single-handedly general-contracted the building of her new house in St. Tropez. She is 78 years old. This is someone who traveled the globe solo for years, negotiating fear in the hearts of merchants, who all but gave away their goods to her boutique back in France. What just happened? They must have thought as she walked away with armloads of fabulous clothes and accessories for a song. This is a communist-leaning socialist who once slapped a police officer in a Paris metro station because she deemed him to be harassing an Algerian youth. This is the quintessential French woman with raised-eyebrow, and gorilla-strong opinions on everything from world politics and dried flowers and books and quiche to the internet (even though she just learned how to send emails 30 seconds ago), and of course, Americans.
“Why do they always say ‘Have a nice day!’?” she says with a quarter of a smile on her lips. “C’est ridicule.” Of course, “Have a nice day” translates to “Bonne Journée”--something French people everywhere wish each other every day with that friendly, upturned lilt at the end of journée. But when it’s an American saying it, it’s rather ridiculous. And how do I fare with my dynamic and, by all accounts, contentious mother-in-law? She likes me just fine. Why? Let’s just say I got lucky.
Even though I am American, fortunately I am also a Black woman with Haitian origins. I’d like to think it’s my winning personality, good upbringing, and knack for keeping my mouth shut at appropriate moments, but I fear it’s because I fit right into her lefty radical sensibilities; plus my native tongue is French. My daughter-in-law is Black! Plus she speaks French! Soon after our marriage, she was pleased to announce that, in my honor, she was sponsoring a child’s well-being in Haiti with a monthly donation. She could even show me a picture of him, she said. All I can say is Whew!
I have to admit that my lefty radical sensibilities rather enjoy having this passionate, born-activist, and creative character as a mother-in-law. I’m just happy I was born Black. And that we live in Los Angeles, and only visit St. Tropez.
