Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Maxima Cum Laude

Blog soundtrack:



I’ve often found that when something from my past or in the future occupies my mind a great deal, it seems that everything else in my present life can also remind me of it. I have all my reunion dress choices hung over my curtain rods. They stare me in the face every morning, reminding me of the something I was thinking about, my 30th reunion.

But, they were not the “everything else” reminding me of the reunion today. “It was a piece of paper that dropped from the sky this afternoon,” said Henny Penny. As I sat at my desk typing, Nathan approached, dropped something from high (6’3” high!), and it floated down onto my desk. When it hit my desk, I picked up the white crisp piece of paper, unfolded its tri-folds, which revealed a formally typed letter.

My first reaction was not “OMG, you’re being suspended,” or “You’ve won a full scholarship to UMaine, because of your third place in that Magic card tournament in Lowell!” No. My first thought was, “People still type letters?!”

Actually, I knew typewriters still existed a few months ago. I had lunch with Lovely Cathy and Lovely Marcia at Lovely Cathy’s law office. There on Marcia’s desk was a typewriter. Okay, maybe it was a “word processor,” but it’s really the same thing in my book.

When I saw it, I wanted to reach out and touch it. I had not seen a typewriter since I pitched the Sears manual typewriter I used throughout college. And, if you used a typewriter in college like I did, do you ever wonder how much more you might have learned if you didn’t have to spend all that time typing and retyping your papers?

I do. Where would I be now if I had a laptop, a printer, the Internet, and spell checking back then?! Okay, I’d probably still be in the same place I am now, but I still think it’s interesting to think about!

After my typewriter flashback, I began to read the letter. “Dear Mr. and Mrs. Canfield….” That salutation always kind of throws me; I used to be Mrs. Canfield, but now there’s another Mrs. Canfield. I read on thinking, as I usually do, I will always be Mrs. Canfield in my heart because of Nathan and because of Quinn.

Nathan had taken the national Latin exam. He had done very well. He had done so well that he had received the Silver Maxima Cum Laude award.

I said, “Wow! That’s great, Nathan.” I never saw Nathan as a Latin scholar, but now he was “Vendi, vidi, vinci” right before my eyes. He took his letter and went off to his room.

I had taken two years of Latin in high school and two years in college. I remembered my high school Latin teacher, Mr. Bronson, very well. He was a quiet, sweet, and serious yet very kind man who always wore a suit and tie and believed that you should learn Latin like you were a Roman “baby.”

We spent the whole school year reading Winnie the Pooh in Latin. It was a gray book with a picture of Winnie the Pooh on it, and its title was “Winnie ille Pooh.” I just typed that in Google, and I now see that it’s called “Winnie ille Pu.” Perhaps, it was only after we invented the compact disc that we could deduce that the Latin equivalent of “Pooh” is “Pu.”

This is Mr. Bronson. I think you can tell the kind of person he was from this photo. He signed my yearbook; it’s a quote from Catullus.



“Ave atque vale, puella.” (Hail and farewell, girl.)

When I was in college, I remember that Melissa and I used to have “Latin downs.” One of us would yell, “Latin down!”, and then we’d both yell Latin phrases at each other. Melissa didn't take Latin, but since she was studying medicine, I guess she was dotted line away from most Latin expressions!

Quod hod locum! (I always remember Melissa saying this one, but I have no idea what it means!)
Caveat emptor!
Pro bono!
Quid pro quo!

I think I finally beat her with the Latin translation of “Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun.” My grandmother had sent me it in a card. It was something she found in Reader’s Digest of all places.

Anyway, after Nathan left my desk, I rummaged through my high school pile of papers. Nathan came out of his room again, and I said, “This is where you get it from!”

He walked over to my desk, giving me his “Oh, no, what is Mom talking about now” look. I said, “See, I took Latin, too.” He picked up the paper certificate I had given him and said, “What’s this?!”



He saw my name on it. He looked puzzled; it was as if he couldn’t comprehend I had a past. I said, “My Senior year of high school, I got the Latin award!”

He said, “Oh.” I said, “Well, that’s where you get it from!” He didn’t seem that enthused, though I didn’t blame him. After all, it was just Latin, a dead language.

Of course, I didn’t tell him that I didn’t have to take an exam to receive the award. My Latin class comprised myself and a lovely sophomore named Ursula (“little bear” in Latin). I got the Latin award by default; of course, in my opinion, anyone who takes Latin deserves an award!

Nathan, unlike me, doesn’t like to write. I wish he did, but he doesn’t; however, I doubt my Latin then was ever as good as Nathan’s is now. One of the many beautiful things about having children is how they often do fill in your blanks.

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