Where Is the War?

As I started to write this story, I searched my mind to try and find an embarrassing moment and I realized that in 52 years of life, I didn’t have one embarrassing moment. I asked my son, but he couldn’t think of an embarrassing moment for me. I asked my mom, but she couldn’t think of an embarrassing moment for me.

The more I thought about it, I finally came up with this. At the age of 27, I learned how to figure skate with the intent to one day run for political office. I had grown up with Debi Thomas, she came to my fifth birthday party, and I wanted to learn how to skate when she was first learning, but I felt my parents wouldn’t pay to give me lessons and let me compete like she was doing. So, I took it up on my own as an adult.

I figured if I could get to the Olympics and knock out some young 14-year-old to win the spot, people might not like me, but they would remember my name and name recognition is one way people win political offices. I didn’t make it to the Olympics, but I did enter the world of Adult Figure Skating.

It turns out, the United States Figure Skating Association (USFSA) held Adult Nationals, an all-adult figure skating competition with Single Ladies, Single Mens, Ice Dance and Pairs skating events. Every year around my birthday in April, I would get to travel to different states around the USA and compete against other adults who loved the sport, beauty, and grace of figure skating. Then in 1999, the first Adult International Skating Competition was going to be held in Villard-de-Lans, France.

Knowing that my mom had always dreamed of going to Paris, I invited her to travel with me for the weeklong competition and spend an additional two weeks after the competition touring Europe. It was so exciting, stepping off the plane on foreign soil for the first time. I was so anxious to capture the moment on film of my mom arriving that I deboarded the plane ahead of her to have the camera ready when she came through the terminal doors.

A special moment it was, and I had indeed captured it. So, as we were standing there smiling and taking in the fact that we had finally arrived in another country, the doors to the hallway back to the plane closed and I realized I had just left my ice skating competition outfits hanging in the closet on the plane.

I tried to find an airline crew member to explain what happened and if I could reboard the plane and retrieve them, but they didn’t let me go back to get them and we still had to go through customs and catch another flight to Lyon, France. So, I just had to leave my costumes behind.

These were custom fit outfits for my two competition programs. I couldn’t just stop at an ice skating dress shop and purchase new costumes one because I’m a size 2XL and two because it would diminish the performances. The only other thing I had to skate in were my practice sweats. Luckily, I was able to leave the airline with information on where I was going to be staying while in France and they were able to retrieve the costumes and send them out on a later flight for us to pick up later in the week but before I was scheduled to compete.

If that wasn’t enough embarrassment for one trip, we needed to be in Villard-de-Lans by 9:00PM the day we arrived in Europe, in order to meet up with the person who had the key to the apartment we were renting. In 1999, there was no GPS to follow. So, after we got the rental car, we followed the written instructions up the mountain to the town of Villard-de-Lans.

Villard-de-Lans is located in the French Alps above Grenoble. It was getting dark as we were winding up and up the two-lane highway unfamiliar if we were headed in the right direction or not and it was almost 9:00. If we didn’t get there soon, we were going to be sleeping in the car our first night in France.

Finally, we found the town and we were supposed to meet the person at a place called the Bleu Dauphin (Blue Dolphin). Being in a hurry, I just wanted to ask directions from the first person I could find. I pulled up to this guy standing outside on the sidewalk and in my best high school French I asked, “Oú est le Bleu Dauphin?” (Where is the Blue Dolphin?}

“Que?” he replied, looking confused about what I was asking him. So, I tried again in French but before I could get very far, he asked in English, “Do you mean the bar that’s right behind me?”

Embarrassed that I had pulled directly in front of the place I was looking for and didn’t know it I said, “Yes, merci.” And looked for a parking space.

The remainder of the competition week went smoothly. But my next embarrassing moment on the trip came as we were leaving Villard-de-Lans back down to Lyon to go to the train station. Once again, driving in a foreign country I was confused by the signs and we were cutting it close to get to our train on time. I rolled down the window to the car and asked a man passing by, “Oú est la guerre?”

“Que?” he replied, looking confused as to what I was saying.

So, I tried again, “Oú est la guerre?”

“You’re asking where is the war.” He said.

I was trying to say gare but pronouncing it incorrectly. He pointed the way to the train station and we were off for the remainder of our two week adventure in Europe.

If you enjoyed this article, please consider leaving a heart and a tip. I’m fundraising to support my son’s goal of becoming a race car driver, so all tips go to his racing team JBS Sports as well as donations to help fund youth athletics. Thank you for contributing.