Joan Westcarr ’86 Gioacchini looks back on her experience living in Paris and helping her children acclimate.
Landing in Paris in the fall of 2016 was a blessing in disguise. After planning our move to the City of Love, one week before our departure, my husband of 23 years decided he was not coming. A hidden mistress for five years and a crippling substance abuse problem were the culprits. It was a shock for the entire family. He and I had already secured an apartment in the 12th arrondissement for our two 16-year-old boys and ourselves. Plus, I was excited for the expansion of our small pasta sales company in Paris — and, even better, watching our son Niko play football (soccer in the U.S.).
My first question was, do I stay or do I go? The tickets had been purchased; we had enrolled our other son, Chris, in school; and Niko was excited about his prospects of playing football in Paris. I had no friends, no foundation, and knew no French. But, Paris did offer one thing: the opportunity to write a new chapter in my life. The city had no memories, smells, places, or people that would remind me of the person and life I was leaving behind. So, I threw caution to the wind and we boarded the plane.
Initially, my daughter, Alexia, remained behind because she had been scheduled to begin her first year at university in Maryland. However, the trauma of her favorite parent abandoning her broke her spirit and will. I suggested that instead of heading to college, she should take a gap year in Paris to collect herself.
My kids had been the core of my existence since 1998. That’s when I had given up a budding television journalism career in Washington, D.C., to become a stay-at-home mom and to help run our family business. My commitment to my children’s happiness, health, and peace became my top priority. The unforeseen rupture of the family dynamics fueled my desire to protect them even more. Especially because I had plucked them from their safe, familiar surroundings in Maryland and had replanted them in a new, unfamiliar place, I had to help them find peace. Their peace was my tranquility, and thus my ability to thrive.
I didn’t speak French, I didn’t know the French football system, and I was a Black woman in a white, European, male environment. Minor details, I thought.
Joan Westcarr ’86
The first child to settle was Chris. He was still in high school and hated the move to Paris. We had lived in Italy from 2008–12, then landed in Bethesda, Md. Chris had carved out his friend group and a rhythm he enjoyed there. Paris disrupted this. Regardless of his wishes, he was dragged along. Enrolling him at a private English school in the city, I hoped it would provide a supportive environment and new friends.
Initially it was challenging for Chris. He had unenthusiastically traded his school bus for the Paris metro. He had never had to navigate any route by himself before, but within a brief period, he learned to hop on and off the trains like a pro. Also, his fresh new uniform — that consisted of a pink-and-white pinstripe button-down shirt and navy blue trousers — made getting prepared each morning a breeze. Within a matter of weeks, our dinner table conversation included Chris chatting about his new friends and describing his new teachers. One down, two to go.
After her gap year, Alexia had decided to remain in Paris. This time helped her flush out her mind and clear away the haze. We had even grown closer. She had originally been tight with her dad, but days and nights spent together discovering restaurants, shops, and galleries had created our bond. At night we shared the same bed, lulling each other to sleep by talking about our fears, dreams, loves, and hates. I had never imagined that my daughter and I could be so close. University was next on the agenda. Alexia did not speak French, so we hunted down the one and only English-speaking liberal arts university in Paris, the American University of Paris. Alexia and I visited the campus and chatted with a few parents and faculty members. The majestic campus buildings and chic neighborhood restaurants that dotted that area in the 7th arrondissement made the choice easy. Sipping champagne in crystal glasses while staring at the Eiffel Tower sealed the deal. Alexia enrolled for the fall of 2017. Two down, one to go.
Niko’s road was a bit more challenging. Because he was not on the standard educational path, I had to navigate different routes for him. His education had to continue because he had not finished high school, but football put a curveball in getting him into school. Niko’s football skills had landed him, at the age of 16, as the starting striker for Paris Football Club’s Under 17s. This was quite an accomplishment for an American player, especially one without an agent or agency behind him. But he was not allowed to attend the soccer high school because he did not speak French and the English high school conflicted with his practices — so I had to be creative in finding him an alternative. The middle ground was hiring English-speaking teachers, in five disciplines, to teach him the required subjects at home. This worked for one year, but I had to switch him to an online school to pursue an actual diploma.
During this time, Niko was scoring goals left and right. This caught the eyes of many scouts, agents, and coaches. His career was about to begin. My job had always been to make sure he ate well, practiced well, got enough rest, and did his schoolwork. After all, I had been handling his football career since he was 6 years old, so I felt in my groove. However, this time it was trickier. We were now in the football mecca of the world, and there was more at stake. I didn’t speak French, I didn’t know the French football system, and I was a Black woman in a white, European, male environment. Minor details, I thought.
I showed up at all of Niko’s games, no matter where they were. Once, I drove five hours to see him not play; he had been benched. It didn’t matter. I had followed every one of his games and tournaments in the U.S., and I wasn’t going to stop now. Watching his performances was crucial if I wanted to continue to guide him. My presence was also important for his psyche because he was a foreign kid playing in a foreign land.
Scouts and agents became my social partners during the games. Although I didn’t understand much French, they all spoke enough English to communicate. Niko had potential, and many of them wanted him to sign with them, but they all knew that they had to convince me first. I was flattered to be in this situation, but I was also very stressed. It was my son’s career, and I didn’t want to make any mistakes. I had heard horror stories of young players who had signed contracts that shut down their careers for life or poor decisions that had turned clubs away. I needed to learn what to do and learn quickly. Humility was the key. I never assumed I knew anything, even when I did. This propelled me to speak to every agent, friend, and family willing to talk to me. I asked questions and cross-referenced info from one football person to another. Patterns as well as contradictions from coaches, clubs, and agents began to show. Discerning who was blowing smoke from who was spitting facts started to become clear. Identifying the stark difference between football the game and football the business helped me navigate Niko’s career. After getting his high school diploma at 18, Niko signed his first semi-professional deal with S.M. Caen, a top-tier team in France. One year later, he was called up to the U.S. Men’s National Team.
Chris made his way through high school and college, graduating with a degree in sports marketing. Alexia wrapped up her degree in three years and plunged into the world of French fashion. Her involvement in Paris Fashion Week, vintage shopping, and TikToking has helped her to become a stylist in the U.S. All three of my children mastered French, adding to their English and Italian.
During this time, I didn’t forget about my own personal growth. Being in Paris was a huge cultural and artistic education. Food, architecture, art, history, and culture were everywhere. It had felt a bit like our years spent in Italy, but this time the language was my greatest challenge. I committed to a few local French courses but absorbing it proved difficult. Maybe the distraction of a divorce taking place thousands of miles away and the focus on my son’s football career made for very little space in my brain.
Because the divorce had eliminated my involvement in our family business, I comfortably fell back on my original career. Once per month, I began contributing to a local English online radio station. Occasionally, I was a substitute teacher at the American School of Paris and eventually taught writing at the American Business School of Paris. As challenging as these additional gigs were, they allowed me an opportunity to expand my social group, to weave myself into the local community, and to temporarily escape the football arena.
Looking back on my experience, Paris brought me so much growth. It gave me the chance to clear my head and start fresh. It opened my mind to new people and a new environment. It transformed me into a stronger-minded, more confident and observant person. It even gave me insights, knowledge, and contacts into the world’s biggest sport while breathing life into my new career: soccer management.
Joan Westcarr ’86 Gioacchini continues to manage the career of her son Niko, who now plays for the St. Louis City (Mo.) Soccer Club.