For some reason, I’m always stuck with the most unique and outgoing professors at my University. They either range from being nerdy Dragon Quest players to those who spend their day smelling sniffy makers- and they’re most certainty not afraid to admit this.
However, I’m stuck with this particular professor who I don’t get sometimes. She’s one of those type of people you can’t really figure out by a mere glance because says the most outrageous things sometimes. However, she’s also one of those type of women who walks in a room and everyone is immediately aware of her presence. It has nothing to do with her beauty- even though she looks incredibly good for being forty something- but I guess it’s one of those things women gain through age and experience. I can’t really put my finger on it other than this: it’s unseeable from the eye, but you get this incoming message in your brain that this woman has been through a lot and doesn’t like being fucked around. I was sort of fascinated by her stoic demeanor because it held certainty and self assurance, which is something I’m slowly trying to emulate myself.
I sort of wonder, does this quality of you instantly come when you are exposed to a unfortunate incident or do you build it on throughout your life?
Anyhow, she teaches my Women in Politics class and boy, she has a lot of stuff regarding to feminism.
I later soon realized this class was going to be rather dull due to the fact my professor talks in a monotone, quiet voice and dwells on about God-knows-what. I remember the first day of class she came in wearing this semi-revealing skirt and announced, “Welcome to Women in Politics. I hope you can take away something from this class and apply it towards the rest of your life.”
The only thing I could take away from her classes were that for A) she claimed she was a racist (She was attempting to point out how everyone is racist in their own way, but I later discovered her husband is Japanese) and B), she had some serious camel toe going on every second class.
My impression of her turned around when one day in class, she began talking about her childhood. I love when my professors open up their past because it allows you the permission to put down your pen for a few minutes and stare off into space. I just think professors love talking about themselves and do I ever rarely pay attention.
However, her story proved me otherwise.
“I remember when I was about-” My professor began pacing around the room, “Either eight or ten, I think? Anyways, I used to have this friend who lived the across the street from me and we would always be at each others houses all the time. Unfortunately, my friend had these parents who were alcoholics and they would be drinking all the time when I came over to play.” She paused to laugh to the class. “Her mother used to pour brandy into her tea and say to me, ’I only do this on rare occasions’. I later realized these occasions were almost all the time.”
When my professor finished circulating around the room, she returned to her podium and leaned against it for a few minutes. She had this distant look in her eye and began talking mostly to herself than to us.
“I remember one day when I was over, my friend got into this really nasty argument with her Dad,” She shook her head, “It was really getting out of hand and I was scared something bad would happen. I turned out to be right because her Dad ended up beating her up right in front of me.” I noticed the class had grown uncomfortably quiet, however, she continued on, “I just remember thinking to myself, even at that age, ’Hey, this isn’t right! This isn’t right! I have to do something about this!”
She looked back at all of us while backing away from the podium. My professor casually folded her arms in front of us as she continued to revisit her past.
“So, I did. I ended up lodging myself between the both of them. Of course, her Dad was a rather very large and strong man, so he ended up shoving me across the room. I ended up with a couple of broken ribs that day and I wanted to tell my parents about her abusive household. Although, my friend told me specifically not to tell anyone and I didn’t- but it’s something I look back on it from time to time- in regret.”
My professor straightened herself out as she continued with the lecture slides. She smiled in this defeated way, like she failed at something.