Almost a Decade Later and I Can Barely Say Hello

This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at SBU chapter and does not reflect the views of Her Campus.

In sixth grade, I was faced with a decision: the choice of either taking a Spanish or a Latin class. In all honesty, I wanted to take neither; I wanted to take a French class, but unfortunately, two years prior, budget cuts in my district took away that possibility. 

Most of my friends signed up to take Spanish right away; no one was into the idea of taking a language that no one spoke. I, on the other hand, was deep into an obsession with Grey’s Anatomy and had my heart set on one day becoming a doctor, and what language did most doctor slang come from? Latin. 

At the start of seventh grade, I found myself sitting in a classroom with eleven other people, including the teacher, ready to learn a language that everyone thought to be of no use. I didn’t realize this then, but this would indeed be the biggest Latin class I ever sat in. 

All I remember from my seventh-grade year is learning the German word for butterfly, walking around the school in a sombrero the day before Christmas break singing Feliz Navidad, and that my teacher could never remember that my name was Emily and not Emma or Emilia, so he would always just resort to fergalious. 

In eighth grade, I got a new teacher, and although I know I learned more than the year prior, the main thing I remember is our field trips to the zoo and the science museum.

I went into high school during prime COVID, but had the same teacher from the year prior. Because of the pandemic we didn’t have any fun zoo trips, but I did make a TikTok about baking cookies for one of my projects. None of the Latin was accurate, but my teacher appreciated the creativity and embarrassment I faced posting it online, so I got 100. 

Sophomore year was the only year that counted. I took the Regents, and while I knew no Latin, my teacher was the kindest man on earth, so I passed, even getting a 100 on the oral portion. This was also the first time since COVID had started that we got to take our annual zoo trip; it rained like every other time I’ve been to the zoo, but it was still worth it.

Since my teacher was such a sweet guy, I decided to take one more year of Latin. I swore this would be my last. At this point, the class size had really started to dwindle, and the stuff we learned quite literally made no sense. We took a field trip to the science museum again and saw some mummy exhibits, then took what I thought would be my last field trip to the zoo.

I made my schedule for senior year with Latin nowhere on the sheet. I saw the summer work my teacher handed out to the people signed up, and I knew there was no way my brain could comparand any of it. Despite my attempts to be nowhere near AP Latin, my guidance counselors signed me up. The first day of senior year, I found myself sitting in the same classroom I had sat in all four years of high school, but this time only with four others. The smartest four people in my grade, mind you. On paper, I did pass AP Latin, but to say I understood any of the material would be a lie. 

My freshman year of college, with six years of Latin under my belt and not majoring in anything close to pre-med as my sixth-grade self had hoped learned that I indeed was not anywhere close to done with my Latin journey. I was going back to the beginning, starting off with Introduction to Latin.

Eight years later, nine Latin classes in to be exact, and I finally enrolled for what looks to be my last semester of Latin. It’s bittersweet in a way, but I also still couldn’t even ask you how you’re doing in Latin, so I think it’s safe to say it’s a relief.