The Nutty Professor and Me

I remember this one time when I had a blog and I actually wrote on it. It was about rebuilding a life and family after divorce and all the little adventures that come along with it. With spring semester being over, I think I'll take a little time and write for fun again. Lets see...where do I start...awe...crazy professor story seems appropriate for this occasion.

I was a little early on the first day of English class because I'm a nerd and that's what nerds do. There were however a couple of other early birds as well. One of these overly eager students was a very tall middle aged hippie who sat on the back row. He wore some sort of graphic t-shirt and blazer. His hair was pulled back into a pony tail that stretched all the way to the middle of his back and he wore a thick, graying beard. As the students filed in, he made awkward comments about being old and returning to school. Some of the students would politely chuckle. I however, kept to myself, ignoring any bustling or talking from others in the room. When the room was full the hippie stood up and making his way to the front of the class announced that he was in fact the professor teaching the course. I was a little surprised, but then again this was an English class and English professors are notorious for being eccentric. I did not however expect this hippie to be so influential to my life decisions.

I started school intending to study respiratory therapy, being a respiratory therapist was not a life-long dream of mine, I just thought it would make for a pretty decent paying job and I'd maybe be able to buy a small house for me and the kids once my career took off. But I wasn't passionate about it, just muddling through. I had this crazy notion that just because I'm a single mom I have to be boring, serious and suffer through life. It wasn't long before my authentic self was rattling the cage, trying to get out.The cage banging only got worse when the crazy professor began assigning essays to read and then asking us to write about the essays. The very first essay assigned was written by Anne Lamont entitled, shitty first drafts. It was all about the awful drafts that come out on a writers first stab and second and even the third. I was shocked to learn that even the great authors struggle with revision. Soon after the first writing assignment I was finished with respiratory therapy. I no longer felt that breathing was the most important thing in my life, and I remembered who I am, who I've always been, a writer.

Later in the semester, I learned that the crazy professor came from a pretty sorted past himself, he and I are not entirely different from each other. He too, was a single parent, had full custody. His daughter was very young when he started his higher education and often times, he had to show up to class with her in tow. I could only imagine trying to get my four year old to sit quietly during a lecture. He was an inspiration. I felt that if he could finish college and make a career out of doing something he really loved to do then so could I. My life has changed since I made the decision to change majors, I found myself again.