"You are growing a beard, Mommy."
How rude! But much to my chagrin, he was spot on.
Pluck and tweeze as I may, on a tri-weekly basis, I just can't seem to keep my facial hair under control.
You see, my grandfather on my father's side was a full blooded Frenchman. This makes me at least a quarter French by my estimation. This legacy explains my olive complexion and the abundance, and sometimes overabundance of dark hair.
I wonder if it also has something to do with my love for numerous French things.
Impressionist paintings like Seurat's Sunday Afternoon on the Island of Grand Jatte captivate me.
Les Miserables is one of the most extraordinary stories of redemption ever written... and probably my favorite musical of all time.
Beauty and the Beast... hmmm, see here!
Croissants, baguettes, and French toast! Forget about it!
Strangely enough, even my favorite actress spoke French and wore clothes designed by a Frenchman.
It has to be more than coincidental.
I can't help but ponder my heritage.
To be continued...