Session One: The Motive

I’ve always wanted to be smart. I was the kid that started off all of her sentences with the word “Actually-“ and then began to disagree- or agree- with you. I was the kid that read the dumbed-down, kiddie version of Moby Dick and then pranced around for the next few years saying that yes, of course she’d read Moby Dick, and it was nice... and then when you asked her what it was about, she BS-ed something about a guy named Ishmael and a homicidal white whale.

In my defense, I’ve gotten better over these past few years.

...better at BS-ing, that is.

But in all seriousness, this drive to have this clean, wholesome, intellectual, artistic, liberal aura is what got me into this mess. I was- and am- an overachiever. Normally, that is something to take pride in. My friends just call me neurotic. And a neat-freak. But that is a completely different story.

So there I was, a freshman. I scored high enough in my language placement exam to be placed in the illustrious Honors Spanish Two. And in my sophomore year, I was in Honors Spanish THREE. And in my junior year...you guessed it, Honors Spanish Four.

I could have been in AP Spanish. I’m not going to gloss that over with false modesty or whatnot. But I was, and still am, convinced that AP Spanish Four would have been a waste of time for me. It would probably have been a recap of everything that I have ever learned in Spanish, and that was essentially Spanish Four which I had just finished. I salivated over the challenge that was AP Spanish Literature (prestige- check, uncommon- check, and challenging- check!) but my teacher wouldn’t give me the required recommendation (grr). I tried to use a loophole and get the department head on my side, but I couldn’t get her to see the righteousness of my cause. SO...

I changed my course.

Now, our school, Loyola Academy, is a pretty cool place, I’m not going to lie. It has an amazing athletic department, and our cafeteria just recently (as in, last Wednesday) added fresh-daily sushi to the menu. I’m very excited about that. So is my stomach.

But the relevance this has to my story is that we have a pretty kickin’ language department. The school offers Spanish, French, German, Greek, and next year, they’re even adding Chinese.

And then there’s Latin.

Oh, Latin.

Say it with me folks. Lah. Tin.

Latin is one of those languages that automatically makes someone sound smart. It’s like “Oh yes, Father is letting me borrow the yacht for the weekend, so that the old chums and I can have a bit of a good old time, eh, Finnegan?”

Oh wait. That’s just spoiled and preppy and pampered. Let me try again.

“OnceuponamidnightdrearyasIponderedweakandweary-“

Slightly psychotic, but smart. Kudos if you know where that came from, you nerd, you.

My point is, Latin is a smart language, and I wanted to look smart. So I decided to take up Latin one. Honors, that is.

Worst. Mistake. Ever.