Page 14 - Demo

The Etymology of ‘Pussy’ as Told by an 8th Grader
pusillanimous (adj.)
early 15c., from Late Latin pusillanimis “having little courage” (used in Church Latin to translate Greek oligopsychos “small-souled”), from Latin pusillis “very weak, little” (diminutive of pullus “young animal,” from PIE root *pau- (1) “few, little”) + animus “spirit, courage” (see animus). Related: Pusillanimously; pusillanimousness.
Iwas a typical thirteen year old, with a helping of anger issues and a side of foot in my mouth. In my conservative school, I craved to be Kim Kelly but was more of a Lindsay Weir, mouthing off where I could and slipping in small rebellions between straight A’s. More than once I ended up in the principal’s office for calling my French teacher a psychotic spinster or my P.E. teacher a loser with a power complex. But what could they really do? My grades were good, my expla- nations calm, and my eyerolls epic.
I was often jealous of my classmates. They received positive attention from our peers and teachers. I couldn’t figure out why saying what was always on my mind was so disruptive and getting me shipped off to the hall; or, worse yet for a girl trying so hard to cover up her own insecurities and hurt, making me seem less of a demure, nice girl who the cute boys would want to ask out, vs. make fart jokes with at lunch.
Eighth grade was rough. The gains I thought I had made in seventh grade slipped before my eyes. Girls were meaner, I was meaner, and I could see high school on the horizon, as well as the pseudo-self I desperately wanted to be.
One positive: I loved my eighth grade English class. The kids were smart, the teacher smarter and far more resilient to the bullshit of pubescent twerps than her peers. It was always nice to be in a room
with a real adult who curated an environment ripe for learning and discourse, and in my case, created a habitat where I felt like my words and burgeoning sense of humor were valued.
One of my favorite units that year was the etymology of words. I love words. They’re fucking neat. I love so deeply how words can turn you into Indiana Jones, reading long forgotten ancient runes by the light of a torch, discovering words’ classical meanings, trac- ing their roots back thousands of years, and finding out how words have shaped the complexity of our society and culture. It’s very fun and cool. (Does this paragraph convince you that I’m cool?)
On one day in particular, our teacher, Mrs. Good, was writing words on the white board to test our knowl- edge of the new Greek and Latin roots we learned the day before. My best friend, Megan, the Hermione of Sheridan Junior High, easily answered Mrs. Good’s question about the word in question:
Pusillus meaning “weak” and animus meaning “spirit,” A.K.A. having little courage, cowardly.
Mrs. Good then asked for other words that contained “Pusillus” as a root. For once, this intelligent, talk- ative class didn’t have an answer. What word in everyday vocabulary could contain “pusillus?” They were stumped. I, on the other hand, thought the answer was staring everyone in the face. So in good spirits I shouted,
“PUSSY!”
The class went silent. I felt smiteful, biblical judge- ment coming from the evangelical kids who were likely still breastfed. I felt a cringe from the nice, quiet kids who were not quite ready to trade in Lizzie McGuire for Degrassi. My friend, Tess, began to giggle a little too loud making the situation even more inap- propriate. Megan felt deep shame for having this wild beast as her best friend.
Fuuuuuuccccck. “That’s not how I meant it!” I quickly tried to explain myself, truly mortified that I had just
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