I sing of arms and the man

I regard reading a physical paper on the weekend as a special kind of pleasure, but according to my children, reading the paper is something only ‘old people’ do, akin to owning a shopping trolley and wearing orthopaedic shoes. Until my children volunteer to carry bags home from my trips to the supermarket—5 minutes walking distance from our house—shopping trolley it is. As for orthopaedic shoes, I fully expect by the time I need them, my shoe designer brother-in-law will have figured out a way to make them look cool, so I’m sorted. I will make one concession to my children’s perception of their mother as ‘old’, and that is my fervent love of Latin. I can’t expect my 21st century children to fully understand my enduring love for an ancient language. At least not yet. Maybe one day? I live in hope.

I graduated from a classical Catholic high school, a true ‘Latin’ school. For grades 9 and 10, the study of Latin was compulsory; supplemented by a semester of German in grade 10. In grade 11 students opted to either continue Latin or switch to German. For me, the choice was obvious. Although I enjoyed German and had a knack for it, Latin made my heart sing. All credit goes to my beloved Latin teachers.  First was Mr Whitehead, whose Latin dad joke–semper ubi sub ubi– “Always where under where” still echoes in my head. Honestly, how could a man called Mr. Whitehead not be a brilliant teacher of the classics? Then there was Ms. Kusch, strict and stern but joyously, infectiously in love with Latin. It was abundantly clear that Latin was a dead language in name only; those two taught Latin with the untempered zeal of teachers who knew they were sharing something wondrous, if you chose to listen.  Latin is everywhere–in literature and science, medicine and geography, mastheads and mottos, catchphrases and captions. Latin was my first linguistic love; it led to Ancient Greek and Spanish and Mandarin. Latin helped me crystalise who I was already becoming–reader, writer, deep (over)thinker.  

Latin is embedded in my consciousness to the point that I can still recall, more than twenty-five years on, the first ten lines of Virgil’s Aeneid—Arma virumque cano//I sing of arms and the man…— and the Lord’s Prayer and Hail Mary in their entireties. Latin made prayers sound like incantations that opened doors to hidden spaces. I’m not remotely religious but I still occasionally recite Latin prayers in my head. Their sound and rhythm are like a warm bath for my brain. 

I attended my annual writer’s retreat over the weekend. One of our prompts was to write a prayer. My friend and fabulous retreat leader, Catherine Deveny, is, in her own words, “a frothing at the mouth atheist” but implored us to write a ‘prayer’ that suited our situation. In the interesting way that brains work, my mind immediately clicked over to Ave Maria. I was back in Ms Kusch’s class, opening our Latin class for the day:

Ave Maria, gratia plena, dominus tecum // Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.

Benedicta tu en mulieribus et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus // Blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. 

Sancta Maria, mater Dei // Holy Mary, Mother of God

Ora pro nobis peccatoribus nunca et en hora mortis nostrae//Pray for us sinners now and in the hour of our death. 

Amen.

Mary inspired me to write a prayer for parents. 

Single parents, sole parents, happily-partnered parents, parents in the midst of turmoil, ALL the parents, everywhere, here is my prayer for you:

Hail, parents, full of grace, we salute you. 

We’ve taken on a [sometimes] thankless task, raising humans in a [sometimes] harsh world.

We aren’t yet finished with ourselves; our children witness our growth in real time.

Not children but still not fully-formed…. how are we supposed to know what to do?

May we have the strength to keep going, even [especially] when it all seems too hard.

May people tell us, with clear voices, that we are doing a good [enough] job. 

May we remind ourselves that we are amazing. 

Because 

we are. 

Photo by Chris Liverani on Unsplash

The Takeaway:

Parenting, like rollercoasters, is not for everyone.

To those who chose to do it, hang on and try to enjoy the ride!

Want to know MOrE?

To open the prayer exercise, Dev read us “Prayer for the Twenty-First Century”, written in 1997 by Australian author and educator John Marsden. It was the first time I had heard it. I was quite moved by the message and its lilting cadence. It’s a lyrical hug. Listen to me reading it below.