By Eva Feld
Not a decade had passed by since that exciting date
in which some partisans of the Democratic party had failed to achieve their
dream of proclaiming a pig for president at the Chicago Democratic Convention,
when the English teacher dragged his apathy to the pulpit where he used to get
even more bored than usual while teaching the rooky college students the rules
of how to write properly in English. Fed up by the monotony of endlessly
repeating the properties of certain adjectives or the appropriate use of verbs, tired of reviewing the same mistakes
over and over and terribly nostalgic of his own youth, his mind wandered often
going back to the old days when his life was an open promise. He decided one
day to reincarnate into the young revolutionary that he used to be at a time
when was able to break the rules to the point of even championing a porcine
cause. So with a grin on his face he
turned his back on his perplexed students, he slammed the door and came back a
few minutes with a paper American flag in his hand. Overcoming
his pupil’s astonishment tore it into what seemed to everybody like a hundred
pieces. At this point, his foxy eyes
where shining with rage and joy. Then he threw the red, blue and white pieces
of flag debris to the floor and he spat them. Outraged he gave his students an
unquestionable order: “Now write!” The experiment resulted in such a shot of
adrenaline that he became an addict to his own performance. He couldn’t wait
for the next class so he could challenge surprise, frighten and instigate.
Neither could his students. Many of them even started to actually learn how to
write.
Three months later the English teacher at the
Roosevelt University suffered a flashback. He was even more bored than before.
His malaise was like the strike back of a virus, stronger, empowered. He
started to feel like a useless clown, his wittiness was expected of him, his
students got used to expecting him to be funny. He started dragging his feet
again and soon replaced his lectures by giving out some printed forms with lame
exercises to do in the class room while he sat on his chair with his feet on
the table, wandering again in search of better memories.
One particularly dull Tuesday, he came up with a
sheet of questions for his students:
1. If
you are a woman, say three reasons for which you would rather be a man (or vice
versa)
2. If
you are white, say three reasons for which you would rather be black (or vice
versa)
3. If
you are married, say three reasons for which you would rather be single (or
vice versa)
A certain malaise got into the student’s spine, now that
they felt like victims of the avenging teacher. Without any further words,
surprises or fun, they were compelled to write a super boring essay by demand. Some yawns and some nervous coughs broke the
silence. The pencils seemed to get lost on the white papers in front of each
student, many scribbles ended wrinkled in the waste basket. Many students took
a chance by repeating old learned clichés.
They wrote that white people have more opportunities, specially in cities such as Chicago where segregation is
so common; that black people are more
appealing concerning sex and music: that it is more convenient to be a man in a
male chauvinist society; that being single enables more freedom but being
married gives more stability. Without any paradox not even one guy wrote about
the advantages of being a woman…
The next Tuesday, the English teacher arrived later
than usual; he took his place at the podium immediately and infringing his own behavior,
read aloud, one by one, each evaluation. None was excellent: they all got a
flat C. Maybe they had improved their grammar or their syntax, he said. But he ended up penalizing their lack of
creativity and their poor structure.
Nobody seemed to really pay him any attention, until
the English teacher took off both his shoes
and also his socks. Then he unbuckled his belt and slowly unsheathed one by
one, his legs. He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off too. Then, standing in
front of his class, so he spoke: “I am white, divorced, nude, liberal,
agnostic, neurotic, skeptic, music lover male. I hate vegetarian food. I smoke
and at times I think of myself as though
I was gay. I wouldn’t want to be other than what I am and if only one of you
would have preferred being what you are, not only would you have gotten an A plus, but you would have also gained my respect, my
confidence and my solidarity.”
One of the white students, who incidentally looked
very much like the English teacher, spoke up and said: “I still don’t know who I
am, or what I want and therefore I can see benefits and disadvantages in
everything and also I can easily become others. Hence I feel respect and
solidarity for everyone in this class
where we gather to learn how to write”
Suddenly the Department Chair erupted through the
door. A disapproving grin preceded his words. Furthermore, he got furious. “I
will not tolerate this disrespectful behavior from a mischief maker, from a
nudist!” he shouted breathlessly.
The white student who looked very much like his
teacher replied: “Pst! Mister Principal, lower your voice. Are you saying that there is a nude professor
in this room? The only one naked here is a literary character and the only
mischief maker in the room is yourself. “
