The topic of my complete lack of speaking any other languages reminded me of a short little story. I’ve only cheated once in my life. Out of complete and utter desperation. I was taking Spanish pass/fail in college. A turnip could take it pass/fail and still make it through. But not me. I did as little as possible as often as possible. It was me, a senior, and a whole bunch of freshmen. The professor expected that by midway through the year we could converse in Spanish reasonably well. When I bothered to attend class, and was hopelessly lost, and he gave an assignment or said something everyone wrote down, I would raise my hand, and in perfect English say, “Tim, I don’t understand you. You are speaking some foreign language or something.” He found it funny the first time. Only the first time. And when he gave projects, I always haggled. He’d ask the class to prepare a five minute oral presentation, memorized. I’d meet him after class, and say, “Tim, how about I give you three minutes, and consult notecards. A lot.” For some reason, he resigned himself to the fact that I was only going to do damage control, so he allowed me to do the absolute bare minimum, even as it crushed his soul. But then the final rolled around, it suddenly hit me. I couldn’t read, understand, or speak Spanish. At all. Like, not even a little. And I was dangerously close to failing the class unless I got at least a C on the final. Which wasn’t going to happen. On account of it being in Spanish. We were on the honor system at Knox, so I decided that the only way I could possibly get a C was to abuse the honor system. I got a Spanish-English Dictionary, my notes, and anything else that might help. And it didn’t. I couldn’t even cheat, I was so far behind. I knew when I handed it in that I was probably doomed. I called Tim about ten times in the next few hours, asking, “Did I pass?!” each time. He sighed, told me to stop obsessing, and hung up. After the tenth time, he finally said, “Yes, Jeff. You passed. Congratulations. Well done.” I don’t think he even graded my final. Or if he did, he just gave me a pity pass, not wanting me to ever darken his doorway again. I’m sure there was a life lesson to be learned. But it was probably in Spanish, too.
Posted on: Thu, 29 May 2014 19:08:35 +0000
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