a. d. xix Kal. Feb. ann. dom. MMXin mea vita multos conscripsi, at nunc sentio me conscriptum esse....
We all know people for whom we have little-to-no use. My list includes that student who whines about the smallest amount of work. That Facebook friend whose posts reveal a neo-con wingnut soul. That colleague who is a shameless apologist for the administration of my school. You get the idea. I'm not talking about the toxic, who should be excoriated. I'm talking about the boring: those whose every ham-handed, wrong-headed move you can anticipate and shake your head over. Those who never even realize they're on your list.But what of that moment, when you realize you're on someone else's list? I had that moment recently, seeing a certain former professor at a conference. I admit, I'm rather easy to write off on the surface: average height and build, white, balding, bespectacled...pretty standard stuff. Boring, even. I'd like to think I have other, more interesting qualities that emerge once you get past the superficial. And I've actually come a long way since graduate school. Don't worry, I'm not going to rehearse here all the reasons why I shouldn't be on that professor's list: I'm really not that insecure, and I'm not looking for validation.
Still, that kind of hand-wringing is part-and-parcel of the moment. First comes the realization itself, then the self-inventory, then bewilderment-cum-bemusement. And then what? You move on, I suppose. White, balding, bespectacled guys like me have been listing and de-listing others since time immemorial: turnabout is fair play. Besides, there are true life-or-death matters on the human race's plate at present, in comparison with which my momentary anxiety seems silly to the point of narcissism.
All of this said, I'll be watching for the day that professor becomes chair. And when I make my annual donation to the program that nurtured me in all other respects, I'll relish the letter the chair is obliged to write, thanking me for my generosity.







