The clang of his hard rubber sole slamming against the base of the metal podium yanked us all to attention. Bright, unblinking blue eyes bulged out from a beet-red face, piercing the heart of each terror-struck student. Every nerve was on edge, every muscle fiber tensed, and every heart beat struck against my rib cage - rattling out a rhythm of fear, anxiety and stress.
High school.
Homeroom.
Father McGrath.
He stood no more than five and a half feet, but his presence felt more like Goliath. The booming voice would ring out and snatch you by the ear - every time. Spittle flecked the corners of his mouth constantly from the fiery outbursts that would rain down upon the heads of cowering students in his class.
It was my first foray into an environment like that. All my life, I had been snuggled and coddled in the warm, cozy classrooms of a small private school. My classmates in 8th grade had been with me, growing and maturing by my side since kindergarten. The population of the entire school had been less than my new 9th grade class! Now, I knew no one, and was hoping to have a nice easy transition into this brand new world - via my sweet, quiet, calming freshmen homeroom class.
I could have been assigned to Father Laherty - a smart, young, chipper math teacher who had a warm smile and a laidback attitude. Perhaps, Mrs. Cosgrove? The gentle, motherly French professor who let everything slide. Maybe, Mrs. O'Bryan? The quick-witted English teacher who always had a joke at the ready - her dry humor effortlessly evoking eye-rolls and snickers from her students. Any one of those - and more - would have been acceptable for my 13 year old frailties. But no, I was sitting in the 5th aisle, FIRST row, directly in front of this tiny Tasmanian devil of a man! I suppose that might sound irreverent to call a priest a devil - but fret not, it was only his shape. Massive rounded back, broad shoulders, full chest, pregnant-looking belly - all balanced on teeny little legs.
"HELLO. ANYBODY OUT THERE. WAKE UP WAKE UP!" the thick-soled, standard-issue, black shoes of the priest rammed against that hollow podium, once again. In the 50 years being a Jesuit, Latin-teaching priest, he had perfected the art of grabbing and holding the rapt attention of every student in the room (and most likely, neighboring rooms down the hall!)
For him, Latin was everything and he intended it to be everything for us as well. There was another Latin teacher that gave out about 90 minutes of Latin homework a night. But Father McGrath? Six hours. Every night. Every single night without fail, we were conjugating verbs until the wee hours of the morning and if you dared to walk into that classroom WITHOUT your completed 10 pages of homewor, that he ABSOULTELY checked? Hell hath no fury.
I was a good student, and if I came home at 2:15pm and worked until 1am on my schoolwork, then that's what it took to succeed. I NEVER dared to step a toe into that homeroom without nominative, genitive, accusative, dative and ablative forms of every noun forming my armor as I went to battle!
Latin might have been a dead language, but Fr. McGrath was determined to show us how its skeleton formed the framework of all classical languages. He didn't want to just have us study vocabulary and sentence structure, but wanted it to permeate our thoughts and tug on the threads of grammar in every nook and cranny of our communication.
"THE LATIN WORD FOR YESTERDAY. TELL ME WHAT YOU HERE THERE. WHAT OTHER WORDS IN ENGLISH ARE DERIVED FROM IT!"
There was no time for musings or pondering life as the clouds drifted by. When that black shoe hit that podium, you had better come to life quickly wth an answer.
"Inheritance", a meek voice cried out from the back.
"Inherit," said another mousy squeak. Sure, it was a shortened version of the same word that was just spoken, but not one soul would blame you for that. In the line of fire of that piercing stare, ANYTHING that fit was SOMETHING to offer. God forbid it was wrong, but an answer was better than silence.
Black pupils floating in aqueous, icy-blue pools shifted to me. There was no escape. I was less than 4 feet in front of him and if he started yelling, I'm sure I would get sprayed with saliva. Another word with heri? Oh - well sure...
"Heritage," I offered. Clearly, it was a word that fit the question and to be honest, it seemed even more obvious than inheritance. For some reason, however, Father McGrath had never seen the connection before.
This man transformed into a cherub before our very eyes. His posture softened, his bulging eyes retracted and the smile on his face curved his eyelids into little half moons of delight. The red complexion melted into his neck, leaving the blush only on his cheeks. He looked at me with the more warmth than I thought was humanly possible.
"Wellllllllll, Miss Leah. Heritage. Why, that's exactly right! I never even thought of that one before!" He curved his finger and thumb around the pudgy cleft of his chin as if the motion would help him think more deeply. I'm not sure if it did, but it certainly gave the illusion to all of us. Although, now that I think about it, the moments of silence could have also just been a sweet respite from the rage. We gloried in the brief truce, but none more than me.
They say that music soothes the savage beast, but my simple offering of a new Latin-English word combination was the magical formula to turn this ruthless priest into my own personal angel. Every other student was called by their last name - no more no less, but I? I was forever "Miss Leah".
My fellow students were equally enamored and envious with my status. "oooooooh Misssss Leeeeeeeeah. pfffft! Teacher's pet!!!" they would tease and fawn all over me. I just smiled. Who couldn't think of the word "heritage" for the word "heri"? Perhaps, their minds were just scared blank. Who can tell? But here is what I do know: Every student that had a sibling coming up in school after them was sure to pass that magical word down the line. Any incantation that offered the ability to soothe Father McGrath into a calm trance was worth its weight in gold.
Alas, it seemed to be a one-time usage. I used up all the magic in it, as no one ever caused him to ponder the connection with such child-like wonder as the first time. I, and I alone, was Miss Leah. And whenever anyone else would tremble in fear at the mere mention of his name, I would smile devilishly and say, "Oh, him? hehe He's just a pussycat." And truly, I never saw the Wrath of McGrath from that day onward- ever again, all thanks to a simple little word: heritage.
I did have other thoughts about what I wanted to share for this creative non-fiction prompt for @theinkwell writing prompt for the DreemPort collaboration this month! Heritage is SUCH a rich word and comes with so many other twists and turns - especially in my life!!! But as I started to think of what to share, and how, this memory popped up and begged to be told. I hope you enjoyed it! I really enjoyed walking down memory lane to share it with you!
Rest in Peace, Father McGrath. You were quite an introduction into that world, but you were one that I treasured deeply! I'm so glad that in that very first week of school, I got to see the school-boy side of you and appreciate that wistful look of appreciation. Thank you for always making us work so hard for our education. It was priceless and both my Latin and Greek studies prepared me for life in more ways that I can recount! Can't wait to see you again some day, but I hope you're wearing soft shoes and the podium is nowhere to be found! hehehe
Cover image is mine, created with Midjourney.