Twelve years old Oscar looked up from his punctuation excercise and asked, "Are you French?" "No," I said.
"You're not?" he said. "No."
"Are you sure?" he said. "Yes, " I said.
"You're like Australian Australian?" "Yes".
"You're sort of...," Dionee waved her hands around, worryingly leaving the interpretation to my imagination.
One half of my ancestry is centuries old English. One half equally Irish .... except for one great great something who left Corsica with Napoleon. Perhaps I look like him.