Chapter Fifteen - The Pencil-and-Paper Problem

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Pencil-and-Paper Problem

“I LEARN BETTER when I’m in it. Not when I’m memorizing it.”

Let’s talk about language class.

At my school, we had three options: Spanish, French, and Latin.
(English doesn’t count. That one’s mandatory. All four years. No escape.)

I tried Spanish first, freshman year.
And look, it was cool. I had a great teacher. She actually lived in a Spanish-speaking country for a while before coming back to teach. That’s dedication. She brought real-world experience to the room, and it showed. She didn’t just teach the words, she carried the culture with her. It made a difference.

But here’s the thing: I struggled to learn it past pencil and paper.

Language is one of those things you have to feel. You can’t just memorize vocab and expect to walk into a conversation like, “Hola, me llamo Spreadsheet.” That’s not how it works. And I was good at memorization when I had to be, but something about just writing words over and over didn’t click for me.

I needed to use it. I needed to live it.
I needed to talk it, not just take quizzes on it.

But the structure of class made that hard. And to be honest?
The rumors didn’t help either.

High school has its own grapevine. The classes you hear about. The ones you get warned about. And Spanish? Everyone made it sound like a nightmare after year one. All homework, all conjugations, all stress. So when the school recommended two years for college, I said “Cool, I’ll take one.”

I dipped.

And I love the language. I really do. Spanish is beautiful.
I still want to learn it someday, just not in a room with flashcards and fear.

French was another option. Gorgeous language. Same reputation. Some of my friends took it and loved it, but I never got close to it. Same pencil-and-paper setup, same warning signs: “Don’t take it unless you’re ready to suffer.” That kind of talk travels fast in high school.

So sophomore year, I didn’t take any language class.
It wasn’t required. And honestly? I needed the break.

The school said, “Colleges want two years.”
And I said, “I don’t care what they want.”
(Spoiler: I did. For three months. Got kicked out. We’re not talking about that here.)

So yeah. One year of Spanish, no French, and a Latin chapter coming soon.
I didn’t become bilingual in high school.
But I did learn something important.

Language is a beautiful thing.
But when you teach it like math, you lose the music in it.
You lose the feeling. The flow. The humanity.

I didn’t want to memorize a language.
I wanted to speak one.
Still do.