Are we really talking about geography?

Yesterday in my Medieval Autobiographical Writing class I admitted I had no idea what "hagiography" was. The class had been tossing it around for the past hour or so and I was lost. I'm not a good actress, so I thought I had better fess up to my ignorance.

The professor threw me a funny look and explained that it was the genre of literature that told the stories of saints' lives. It made sense. We're reading "La Vie de Saint Louis." But sue me, I had a brain fart. The long, many-syllabled word sounded as foreign to me as the Spanish and Italian words I've been bombarded with in my Romance Philology class.

But the student next to me turned my way and whispered, "Tu ne dis pas ca au professeur!" She was giggling but I felt my face flush nonetheless. Had I committed a major faux pas?

I'm always torn between trying to hide my obliviousness and admitting to it up front. Often I try to conceal it, but I don't think I do such a good job of fooling anyone. I guess part of me is a little more at ease showing how much I don't know because I have proven to most of the professors here that at least I am capable of working tirelessly at attempting to fill the gaping hole that is my lack of knowledge.

Maybe you're not supposed to admit to the teacher that you don't know what's going on. But I'm pretty sure I wasn't the only clueless one in the room. And every student knows what it's like to send silent thank-yous across the room to that sacrificial lamb who finally asked the stupid question everyone was thinking. And I'll gladly accept that responsibility once or twice. I never claimed to be a genius.