September, 1995. My freshman year at the University of Delaware. Getting acclamated to a co-ed dorm. Wondering how I was going to endure two roommates named Chris - yet another story. Trying desperately not to feel homesick.
First day of classes. Honors Spanish. Good teacher. Great class. I still play fantasy football with a number of the people I met in that class. Also an International Relations class I would ace. Not so bad, I thought to myself as I journeyed back to the dorms. Those were the Monday/Wednesday/Friday classes.
The next day, I had English mid-morning. I had always had a love-hate relationship with English. That may seem strange to some of you. But it was true. I wasn't particularly fond of reading in high school. And I deemed all the English teachers overly dramatic abstractionists. They sounded more like bad psychologists than people who were teaching a subject. So, I wasn't particularly excited about the class.
I found the building - a chem lab named for some DuPont (Little Known Fact: The University of Delaware is publicly run but privately owned mostly by the DuPont and Gore - GoreTex - families. Delaware State University in Dover is the state school). I descended to the basement where I found a classroom reminiscent of one from a 1950s Catholic School. I entered hesitantly. Not the first person, but close. I sat in the one-piece chair-desk and waited. No one spoke.
The classroom filled with another 15 students. About 20 in all. There were a few people who knew each other. And thus a few random whispers. Enough to be really annoying, but not enough to have someone turn around and shoosh them.
We waited for 5 minutes. Then another 5. Still no one spoke. We didn't know the 15 minute rule yet.
She entered. A large woman with a bulldog face. She seemed to have brought a hurricane-forced wind with her. Books and papers flailing in her arms. She half dropped, half threw everything that barely stayed in her arms upon the table. We sat stunned.
She looked up with a grimace and paced the front of the room for a good 30 seconds before opening her mouth.
I paraphrase:
'This is Honors English. You will be reading a LOT. More than you've ever probably read in your life. If you're not ready to read, I suggest you don't come back. You will also be writing a LOT. If you're not ready to write, I suggest you don't come back. This class is difficult. And most of you probably won't do as well as you expect.' Then she looked us collectively in the eye with some mutant power acquired from some university in New York. 'I don't like you. And you'll most likely not like me. It's better that way. But anyone who does choose to stay will learn. Good day.'
With that she scooped into her arms in one motion the papers and books that laid about the table. And she was gone.
Some made a mad dash for the door, never to be seen on campus again. The rest, like me, sat stunned staring at the empty green chalk board. We had no words for what had happened. I returned to my dorm wondering if a life in gas pumping was really as bad as everyone suggested.
Whether out of stupidity or courage, I returned that Thursday to the basement of the chem lab. I watched the classroom fill with people who looked as if they were going to the hangman. There were 12 of us. Down about 10 from 2 days prior. We lingered as if wraiths on the cusp of dismal immortality.
She entered. Breezily. Gradually. Her papers and books neatened in her plump arms. She placed them down ever so lightly upon the desk and sat her body upon the desk. 'Now that we have that little episode out of the way, shall we get started?' We stared again, but this time with amazement at the reclining woman. 'Let me just say that I needed to separate the wheat from the chaff. But please don't misunderstand me. I meant everything I said during our first encounter except, of course, that line about not liking you. Just give me some time, and I'll learn to dislike you. But I have to give you the benefit of the doubt.' She smiled widely and delved into introductions.
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