Kidding! I don’t have a quiet, studious side. I started young. I learned the word loquacious when I got my 2nd grade report card and wasn’t sure if I was being praised or scolded. My mom explained the word to me and I concluded I was being sort of praised and sort of scolded all at the same time. I was loquacious in Hebrew school, of course, but in English. The one Hebrew expression I knew really well? The one for shut your mouth, “sheket bevakashah!” Traditionally, the entire class responds with a boisterous “Hey!” So maybe I got scolded for talking too much, but I was allowed to shout back at least.
Either way, I think every report card I ever received said loquacious, or very social, or talkative (from teachers with no flair for language). I spoke Spanish fairly well in high school, so even in an immersion class I chatted away. I guess my Spanish teacher probably wrote “la boca grande, pero habla bien el español.”
As to my studious side, if my mom didn’t read my blog, I could tell you some stories from college. So mom, this is the end of the blog! Good night!
OK, now that she’s toddled off to bed, let me whisper. In college I was supposed to read a Spanish novel and write a book report about it. The problem was that I never bought the book, so technically I never read the book. So when the report was due…
Mom! No horsing around—it’s time for you to go to sleep!
Man, she would kill me if she knew that I wrote a report, in absolutely flawless Spanish, about how I couldn’t afford to buy the book, but that I read the back cover of it and it seemed great. I went on to describe what I thought the book would be about if I ever, you know, read it. I was so bold as to question the character development of the protagonist, based on how I thought the protagonist would fill out if I ever, you know, read the book. And you know what? It came back with a “muy bien, B+”
Then there was my philosophy class. It was a semester chock full of determinism v. free will. I believe in free will. So much so in fact, that I chose not to write any papers during the semester. When the professor finally spoke to me about it, I proudly proclaimed my free will, and he said something about theoretical v. practical and that if I didn’t want him to determine that my free will and I flunked the class, I better get my sorry butt in gear and write a few papers over the weekend. So I did. Final grade? B+
I think some professors really do appreciate a spunky/obnoxious kid.
Mom! Is that you eavesdropping when you’re supposed to be in bed? Scoot!