I learned yesterday that my most influential college professor died. He has been dead for four years, but it is still news to me.
Mixed emotions. As in most relationships, there is no clear sum-it-all-up feeling associated with this man. I blamed him initially for my career path. While it is true that without his guidance, I doubt I would have ended up in education and might have been happier, I stopped blaming him years ago. I was in my early twenties and had no direction. He put me on a path, and it was a path he knew and loved. He assumed I would love it, too.
All that aside, he was a true teacher. If anyone I’ve ever met was born to teach, it had to be him. Not only did he teach his subject matter, but I also credit him with my knowledge of literature in general. No literature professor ever inspired me to read the way he did.
He taught me to swim in the ocean.
He taught me how to use a pressure cooker.
He taught me more about Fidel Castro than anyone should know.
He taught me how to know when it’s time to give up.
I’m sure many of my memories aren’t correct. For one, he rarely spoke English but I remember things he said in English. So much is lost in translation. There is a good chance I never fully understood him in the first place. He failed to pronounce the letter “S” most of the time. My classmates and I often had to fill in the blanks after lectures.
During my senior year, most of my days were spent in his wing of the building. There were mornings he would call and ask me to take over a class. He was a central figure in my early adulthood. Many years have passed, but I still sat stunned yesterday when I read about his death.
The last time I heard from him was in a letter. He found me somehow about ten years ago and wrote to say hello. I confessed how much I hated the career that he had chosen for me. He responded with the excuse that he had the best intentions in all he did. I believe that.
Rest easy, old friend. Along with many other memories that arose yesterday as I let you settle into my mental cemetery, I recalled ” toda la vida es sueño, y los sueños, sueños son.” If Pedro Calderón de la Barca was correct, then now you are finally awake.
