continued efforts to someday hear 'Oh Captain, my Captain'

I teach Latin to a group of gifted youth in an online high school. This current activity has provided me with ENDLESS cocktail party anecdotes. The scenario always plays out the same way:

'So, what do you do?'

I'm a grad student.

'Oh, what do you study?'

Latin and Greek.

'Oh.'

I also teach Latin for an online high school.

'Hm.'

'Wait, what? Online high school? Well how does that work?'

And, voila, I am the most interesting person at the party. 

The other perk of teaching online: I pre-record the majority of my Lectures, which means I sit in my little office without any outside censor and talk to my computer. This allowed me to record a Lecture in which I rant about the importance of slowness and exactness in translating Latin. I go off on how Roman history, the literary output of the Roman civilization, is in the hands of my students, and, really, who are they to think they have the right to mistranslate Cicero? The result, I get an email like this from a parent:

I have been asking ––– "how's Latin coming?" You may be interested in what she said this past Wednesday night, "I made up my mind not to dally in Latin anymore, not accept less than 100%. Magistra told us that faithful historical translation requires more than 'almost right' -- it requires perfect translation, otherwise you don't convey the sense that respect for ancient people demands. That made me think. (Referring to my long-standing fatherly admonition that anything less than 100% doesn't cut it.) You've been right all along. I want to learn the history, and to do that my Latin has to be unimpeachable. So I made up my mind to do what's necessary to nail it every time."

And, yes, they call me Magistra. I can't handle Miss and I'm not a Doctor or Professor yet, so that's what we got.