In the summer of 1962, my mother flew us to meet our French family. We didn’t speak the language at home and so struggled to relate to these strange cousins who looked at us like we were just plain dumb. But Luke came up with the best ice breaker, the chicken dance replete with the bluck bluucck bluccck sound. Before long my cousin Veronique was trying it out. Great laughter ensued. This was one language we could all speak.
