January 21, 1997. First Day of English Class

I strode into the classroom, intent on getting a front seat in the classroom.  I had worn a tight, form-fitting, construction-orange T-shirt full of swirly designs.  My denim shorts came mid-thigh, flattering trim legs and a petite stature.  My bosoms were voluptuous and my complexion flawless.  I wore white Keds canvas shoes that I fastidiously kept clean.  My hair--long, sun-kissed, and freshly washed with White Rain shampoo--graced my elfin face in dry, natural waves.  I felt energetic and enthused for class.

I sat down at the closest available table in Room 251.

The class was full of noise that I couldn't decipher.  I opened up my notebook, uncapped my black pen, and sat anxiously ready to take notes.

The professor walked in a little while later.  He was preoccupied, bespectacled with large glasses and wore a tight-lipped expression.  I studied him carefully, wondering of his classroom expectations.

"My name is Dr. Bruce Wayne Hawkins," he began.

The class twittered.  I frowned, unclear as to why they were laughing.  Yet my professor seemed to understand.  "I know, I know..." The laughter died down.

I stared.  My professor scanned the room, searching each face carefully.  I was wearing glasses, too, like he was, yet our eyes seemed to lock into each other's intensity with an immediate intimacy.  I gaped, shocked at the suffering I could see in his eyes.

Dr. Hawkins fumbled as he looked away, yet quickly recovered.

I listened carefully, ascertaining the expectation with a private worldview I would share with my teacher in his office at the designated times.  I was thrilled at hearing him speak plainly, openly, without inhibition or censorship.  

Dr. Hawkins marched to the whiteboard and scrawled in great, big, blue letters:  WORDS ARE MAGIC!  

I was transfixed.  Dr. Hawkins knew about language?  My heart raced.

The class sat dumbly.

Dr. Hawkins pursed his lips thoughtfully.  Then, he suddenly announced, "Write the one thing that is significant to you.  I will be back while you compose."

I eagerly began to write.  

"The one thing that is important to me [I wrote] is keeping perspective.  Life is a matter of comparison.  Nothing is better or worse when we approach things will equanimity."

I put down my pen, staring at my paper.

My professor appeared again, smiling.  He asked for the papers back where he reviewed them at his desk.  Then he instructed the class to read from The Language of Oppression, a thin brown volume that I began to skim quickly.

After some time, Dr. Hawkins began to call out names.  I don't remember those names.  However, he got my attention with an inquisitive, "Michelle Spranger?"

"Yes?" I responded.

He paused.  "You wrote, 'This is important to me'."

"Yes."

"The assignment requested 'significance'."

I shrugged.  "Same thing."

Dr. Hawkins looked at me intently, nodding slowly.  "I see what you mean."

Then we smiled at one another, our friendship beginning instantly.