Venite Adoremus

 

 

Due to several factors, I have to call the "provider line" of several different insurance companies.  It is the glorious result of a misspent youth.

Most of you know that means I am talking to someone in another country.  You would not believe how difficult the name "Alan" is to explain to someone overseas.

But these folks can do something I can't: they can speak another language besides their native tongue.  

Sure, sometimes the hiring process for some is one question: Can you speak English? (Answer: "Huh".  Boss Man: "Close enough.")  But for the most part,  the people at the other end of the phone can speak English as well as I can.

Like most Americans, I took a foreign language in high school for one reason.  You had to take two years of a language to graduate.

In ninth grade, I took French, which my performance could best describe as a garbage fire in a train wreck during a fecal storm.  

So when tenth grade somehow came, I decided to switch horses in midstream, which had always been my go-to academic strategy.

I decided to take Latin.

There's a little poem about Latin that every student should know before taking Latin.

"Latin is a language
  dead as can be.
  First, it killed the Romans
  and now it's killing me."

In French, you had to speak all the time, and the teacher thought I didn't know how to pronounce words correctly, so she stared at me, which made me nervous.

You didn't have that in Latin because nobody was walking around asking you where the library was in Rome.  That was a big plus for me.

 I mainly took Latin because it would make me look smart.  I already had some of the components of the "smart look": acne, thick glasses, unruly hair, and bad breath.

I soon discovered that more to looking smart than carrying around a Latin book. You actually had to be smart. Which meant you had to open your book and study.  As we said back then: Gah.

My years in Latin at good old Wheeler High School were not a plane crash like my year in French, but it wasn't great either.

But it would surprise you that I made two "B"s in Latin.  

In Latin I, my teacher, Mrs. Altenbach, died in the middle of Spring quarter.  Mrs. Altenbach was nice, even though she gave me detention for saying "Snot" in class. ( I should have said "Snoti, snotum, snotus").  When I came in to do my detention, she had forgotten about it and said I was a sweet young man. Those were the last words she ever said to me.

Her supply teacher gave me a B for that quarter. I entered 11th grade, thinking I could be smart even though every math I ever took was called "Math."

My teacher in Latin II was named Noel Jenks. I think she was born on Christmas Day. I also heard she made 1600 on the SATs, so she had some candle power.

I remember Mrs Jenks being a very pleasant person despite having red hair.  She had a class of all these high achievers. Then there was me.

I'm sure I was the "less gifted" person in her class.  All I wanted was to pass and never take another language again.  (Surprise, Surprise: You must take a language class to get a history degree. Really.)

However, in the winter quarter of 1976, I made another B in Latin.  I'm still trying to figure out how or why.

As they say in Latin, "Tempus Fugit"- time flies.  I made it through Latin and went on with my life. My wife (who was in Latin I when I was in Latin II) and I ran into Mrs. Jenks several years ago. I reintroduced myself as her worst Latin student ever.  She didn't disagree.

The other day, I was listening to the Classical Choral channel on Pandora because you have to fight for your right to party.

"Adeste Fideles" came on. I found myself singing "Ventie Adoremus" because it sounded so pretty, and I was saying it right.

I realized Latin explained things with fewer words than English.  "Adeste Fideles" is "O Come All Ye Faithful" in English.  "Ventie Adoremus" is "O Come let us adore him".

It just took over forty years, but I have a new appreciation for Latin. 

Thanks, Mrs. Jenks and Mrs. Altenbach.