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Hating when men cry
May 5, 2006
I have a professor who looks like he’s 25. Actually, I doubt that he really is much older than that. This was his first and last year teaching at my college.
He was one of those teachers who stood on desks and cussed out the administration. He told us stories about growing up in New York before we sat around and watched Crash. He brought his toddler daughter to class and taught with her seated on his shoulders.
He was incredibly approachable. He was also a hardass. He strictly graded papers and threw chairs when someone fell asleep in class. Everyone loved him.
Today was our last class with him. He looked around, joking as always. As he talked, not lectured, to all of us for the last time, he began pointing out individuals who he came to respect over the last year.
About halfway through, he stopped. His hand, raised in explanation, slowly lowered. His eyes welled with tears. It wasn’t uncomfortable. The 20-some of us sat there, heavy with the realization that those sort of college courses, and professors, are few and far between.
Before leaving, the boys stood up, starting a slow clap, and we left.
May 5th, 2006 at 2:10 pm
Your professor sounds like the kind of teacher that everyone would love to have. Why don’t I have any teachers like that before? He must be a family guy if he brings his toddler daughter to class.