Sunday, November 22, 2015

Merci Beacoup. All the French She knew. All the French She Needed


I was just watching the news, and a piece aired related to the terrorist attack on a hotel in Mali.

For those of you, my readers, who may chance on this post years from the time it is being written, suffice it to say that some home-grown, would-be terrorists of that small nation took it on themselves to storm a hotel there, take hostages, and gun down a couple of dozen tourists; just a few days after a larger attack on Paris.

At any rate, in the end a group of Malian special forces and policemen, and a couple of American special forces members, who happened to be in the area, managed to make their way into the hotel, “dispatch” the (very) bad boys, and lead the remainder of the hostages to safety.

As the news segment wound its way to its four minute conclusion, however, an interview with a middle-aged American, or possibly Canadian, woman put the “punctuation mark” where it rightfully belonged.

“All I could say was, ‘merci beaucoup.’ Just, ‘merci beaucoup.’ The only French words I know.”

Her words were poignant, and (unexpectedly) brought me to tears.

There are those decent, humble servants among us who go about doing good, and standing bravely against the onslaught of those who would harm us. And who are willing, perfectly willing to lay down the privileges and joys of this life to rescue a friend or stranger.

Merci beaucoup.
 
… Merci beaucoup


By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 16

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