Rent in Twain

Several years ago I made a decision. It was my sixth grade year, and I had just finished reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Consequently, I had also resolved to loathe Mark Twain until my dying day.

The hatred was not difficult to cultivate. Over the next few years I was forced to read Huckleberry Finn, not once, not twice, but three more times. Each reading served only to feed the blazing feelings of contempt I had for Mr. Samuel Clemens. [It should be noted that when I was in seventh grade, I read A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, and did not object so violently. I'm still unsure why.] In eleventh grade, in the midst of Anger and Disagreement 101 (Junior English, to those who didn't have P.H.), at the mention of reading Huck Finn again, I very nearly became sick on the spot. Vehement objections were made, and Trent and I were allowed to read a different book (what a rebel I was, eh?). Yes, my distaste for Twain had grown so uncontrollable that I took refuge in My Antonia. Oh the desperation. Upon completion of the novel, I determined that I had never read anything so droll in my entire life (with the exception, perhaps, of David Copperfield, read at the beginning of sixth grade, although in the book's defense, I was only 11; I ought to give it another chance) and promptly forgot everything I could about the story - except for the wolves . . . What I wouldn't give to forget the wolves . . . Ah, but I digress; this is the tale of my relationship with Mark Twain, not Willa Cather. So, upon returning to class and hearing my fellow students' tales of woe, I nodded knowingly and shared their indignation.

Now, here I stand, two and a half years later, holding on to - no, clinging to - the traces of loathing that are slowly trickling out of my hands like river water. A hatred nearly eight years in the making is a difficult thing to relinquish. Yet as hard as I try to despise it, I find myself loving every Twain snippet I come across. Today, for example, he sympathized with nearly every hang up I have with the German language. Given, his objections are a little stronger than mine, but the idea is the same; He provided a way for me to laugh about it, anyway.

So, if you study German (or even if you don't), check it out:

The Awful German Language

Well, Mr. Twain, it seems that this may be the beginning of a beautiful relationship.