When you refuse to believe that latin is a dead language.
Or when you’re asked on an application form which languages you’re fluent in and put, English and Latin, but completely hopeless in your country’s second official language, French.
When you say “mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa” to someone after doing something majorly wrong, you
actually mean it and beat your breast thrice while saying it.
You have a small sense of pride when you’re watching some old history movie in class set in the 1600s and the priest is speaking in Latin and are the only person in the entire class who knows what he’s saying. Or, when the priest is whipping himself with a tree branch reciting the Confiteor in Latin, and your classmates are uber confused and disturbed, you know exactly why he’s doing what he’s doing and what he’s doing. Then feel guilty for being proud.
You get tired and annoyed of all the “sexual abuse” scenarios in your law class involving Catholic priests, and write a complaint letter to the Dean.
When some poorly formed Catholic in your traffic enforcement class asks if Catholics can use the defense for impaired driving after Mass that the wine wasn’t actually wine, but Jesus’ blood, you consider it your Catholic duty to “instruct the ignorant” and give the person, as well as the rest of the class, an impromptu theology lesson on transubstantiation and why Catholics can’t use transubstantiation as an excuse for impaired driving.
